Those who love the most, Do not talk of their love, Francesca, Guinevere, Deirdre, Iseult, Heloise, In the fragrant gardens of heaven Are silent, or speak if at all Of fragile, inconsequent things. And a woman I used to know Who loved one man from her youth, Against the strength of the fates Fighting in somber pride, Never spoke of this thing, But hearing his name by chance, A light would pass over her face. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CHILDREN'S HOUR by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW TO MICHAL: SONNETS AFTER MARRIAGE: 8. AFTER RONSARD by CHARLES WILLIAMS JOLLY NOSE by WILLIAM HARRISON AINSWORTH COMEDY by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH OF BEAUTY by EVA K. ANGLESBURG THE VIVANDIERE ('70) by WILLIAM ROSE BENET THE YOUNG FOWLER THAT MISTOOK HIS GAME; AN IDYLLIUM by BION |