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MARCELINE DESBORDES-VALMORE, Poem: The Separated

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Do not write. I am sad, and I would turn me.

Beautiful summer without you, this is the night without a torch.

I closed my arms cannot reach you,

And hit my heart is knocking at the tomb.

                 Do not write!

Do not write. Do not learn to die to ourselves.

God asks only that … you, if I loved you!

At the bottom of your absence listen that you love me,

Is to hear the sky without ever rising.

                 Do not write!

Do not write. I fear you; I’m afraid my memory:

She kept your voice calls me often.

Does not show the white water that cannot drink it.

An expensive writing is a living portrait.

                 Do not write!

Do not write these sweet words that I dare not read:

It seems that your voice pours on my heart;

I see them burn through your smile;

It seems that a kiss imprinted on my heart.

                 Do not write!

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