Hoje o vento estava calmo, e soprou-me ao ouvido um poema vindo de longe...

‘Tis time this heart should be unmoved,
Since others it hath ceased to move:
Yet though I cannot be beloved,
Still let me love!

My days are in the yellow leaf;
The flowers and fruits of Love are gone;
The worm – the canker, and the grief
Are mine alone!

The fire that on my bosom preys
Is lone as some Volcanic Isle;
No torch is kindled at its blaze
A funeral pile!

The hope, the fear, the jealous care,
The exalted portion of the pain
And power of Love I cannot share,
But wear the chain

But ‘tis not thus – and ‘tis not here
Such thoughts should shake my Soul, nor now
Where Glory decks the hero’s bier
Or binds his brow

- Lord Byron –

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