Do not stand at my grave and weep
Ce poème est si beau qu’on n’ose pas le traduire.
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glint on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle automn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circle flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry ;
I am not there. I did not die.
Mary Elizabeth Frye
Publicité