A Room of One's Own

L'appassionato commento di ParoleMaddalene al post precedente mi ha ricordato una poesia che a volte ripeto a me stessa, quando  mi lascio prendere dal dubbio se sia meglio parlare o tacere.

A lei dunque la dedico.

I was not beloved of the villagers,
But all because I spoke my mind,
And met those who transgressed against me
With plain remonstrance, hiding nor nurturing Nor secret griefs nor grudges.
That act of the Spartan boy is greatly praised,
Who hid the wolf under his cloak,
Letting it devour him, uncomplainingly.
It is braver, I think, to snatch the wolf forth
And fight him openly, even in the street,
Amid dust and howls of pain.
The tongue may be an unruly member —
But silence poisons the soul.
Berate me who will — I am content.