Yet each man...

El otro día (bueno, ayer) me releí "The Ballad of Reading Gaol", de mi querido Wilde. No sé por qué, pero cada vez que la leo me impresiona alguna parte. Esta vez, han sido estas líneas las que se me han quedado bastante marcadas, aunque otras veces simplemente son otras. En fin, aquí os las dejo:

Yet each man kills the thing he loves
By each let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword!

Some kill their love when they are young,
And some when they are old;
Some strangle with the hands of Lust,
Some with the hands of Gold:
The kindest use a knife, because
The dead so soon grow cold.

Some love too little, some too long,
Some sell, and others buy;
Some do the deed with many tears,
And some without a sigh:
For each man kills the thing he loves,
Yet each man does not die.