Beside a humble stone, a tree
Floats in the cemetery's air,
Not planted in memoriam there,
But growing wild, uncultured, free.
A bird comes perching there to sing,
Winter and summer, proffering
Its faithful song—sad, bittersweet.
That tree, that bird are you and I:
You, memory; absence, me, that tide
And time record. Ah, by your side
To live again, undying! Aye,
To live again! But ma petite,
Now nothingness, cold, owns my flesh. . .
Will your love keep my memory fresh?
by Paul Verlaine, translated by Norman R. Shapiro.
![](https://img.wattpad.com/cover/243490059-288-k181871.jpg)
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Last Hope || Regulus Black
Fanfiction" 𝑻𝒐 𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏! 𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒎𝒂 𝒑𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒕𝒆, 𝑵𝒐𝒘 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒅, 𝒐𝒘𝒏𝒔 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒉... 𝑾𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒌𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒎𝒚 𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒚 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒉? " ↳The moment those words...