dialogues sur l’éloquence de la nature humaine – (2) the rose of silence, the rose of voiceless sounds

Second Act

Listening to the voice of W. B. Yeats

I did not dream that beauty passes like a dream

because for me it passes like a precious word

a rose of the world that is, indeed

the music of silence, and of living

the wind of a delicate gesture

is always a gesture, a murmur of love

I and laboring life are passing by

our motion, mine and another’s

eventually converged to a vacuum

to a single point on the apex of pain, on the climax of silence

pulsating so many melodies of sour

so hideous tunes verging on the loneliness of love

like pale eyes living on this lonely face, in their dim abode

and then I trust, I reverberate

the Archangels of Love used to cut across gentle souls

not mine

Before a delicate Voiceless Word

or any hearts to beat once again inside

before Her honey, before Her feet

I did not even make the world to be a grassy road

and that was because the sounds, the melodies

immersed in a fluid silence of soul

were cold, sleeping in solitude, in a silent tone

what passes for me like a dream

was nothing but a voiceless song of love

Come near, red rose, proud rose

I do not see sadness in your motion

the key to all hearts rely on your smile

and now your dance is tuned to a high and lovely melody

the melody of silence, of reciprocity, of the wind

the melody of a daisy, the melody of beauty

the silent sound of a love