C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
The Death Agony
By Sully Prudhomme (René François Armand Prudhomme) (18391907)
Y
Speak not, I pray!
’Twill help me most some music faint to hear,
And pass away.
From life’s hard chain.
So gently rock my griefs; but oh, beware!
To speak were pain.
Can naught reveal;
Give me the spirit-sounds minds cannot reach,
But hearts can feel.
As tranced I lie,
Passing from visions wild to dreamy sleep,—
From sleep to die.
Speak not, I pray!
Some sounds of music murmuring in my ear
Will smooth my way.
Tell her my whim:
I want her near me, when I’m faint and weak
On the grave’s brim.
Just once again.
In simple monotone to touch the heart
That Old World strain.
Calm hopes and fears;
But in this world of mine one rarely lives
Thrice twenty years.
Only us two!
She’ll sing to me in her old trembling tone,
Stroking my brow.
My good and ill;
So will the air of those old songs recall
My first years still.
My heart-strings torn,
But all unknowing, the great barriers past,
Die—as we’re born.
Speak not, I pray!
’Twill help me most some music faint to hear,
And pass away.