Spring 1949 • Vol. XI No. 2 PoetryApril 1, 1949 |

Not to Be (Mourir)

I will not utter a complaint, neither a cry The last song has fallen On the shapeless and dark country The narrow channels of loneliness Are recalling all my lost treasures I can only see walls around me When a few misfortunes associate They may kill the greatest dream The simple dream of human hope My own picture is covered with shadows And I do not recognize it in the light I forget and I am forgotten In my prison complete is the darkness And I sink into myself As a corpse in his open grave (From Le Livre ouvert)

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