The quiet habit with silent hands
Binds up, day by day, our greatest wounds;
It puts its sure bandages on our hearts
And pours its forgetful oils on them without end;

The noblest sorrows, which would defend themselves,
Desiring to endure for the love they contain,
Feel the need dear to them and which they maintain
Become, in spite of themselves, less fierce and more tender;

And, each day, the hands sleepy and soft,
The insensible hands of slow habit,
Tighten a little more the strange quietude
Where the drowsy evil submits and dulls;

And with the same touch with which she dulls the pain,
With the same delicate touch that passes
Always, it delights, it extinguishes, it erases,
Like a reflection, in a mirror, under a breath,

The gestures, the smile and the very face
Whose presence was divine and deadly;
They fade away covered with a fine dust;
The source of regrets becomes veiled and pale.

Each hour soothing the softened suffering,
Taking away the lustre from lost pleasures,
Thus she brings with her diligent hands,
The past from the present, and reconciles them;

The pain is lessened for lesser delights;
The wound is softened and calmed and closed;
And the high despairs, which were meant to be without end,
Are slowly changed into scars;

And he who cherishes his dark anxiety.
Who would shed tears over his dissolved pain,
More than all torments and cries dread you,
Silent hands of slow habit.

Posted by:Benjamin

Hello to all, My name is Benjamin, I am the happy father of 2 beautiful children. I have always loved to read, since I was a child, I isolate myself to read everything and anything, novels, comics, economic news, pattern and also poems. This is the reason for this site, because poems have allowed me to learn and strengthen my English which I must say was not very developed... thanks to the French schools. I would like to tell you about the books I have read in my short life (yes, I am only 34).

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