Há um momento no filme de Jack Clayton - The Innocents - onde Miles, o menino da casa onde se passa a tétrica história, recita um poema com tal candura e maturidade que me faz arrepiar. Ele aqui segue em toda a sua beleza moribunda:

What shall I sing to my lord from my window?
What shall I sing, for my lord will not stay?
What shall I sing, for my lord will not listen?
Where shall I go, for my lord is away?
Whom shall I love when the moon is arisen?
Gone is my lord, and the grave is his prison.
What shall I say when my lord comes a-calling?
What shall I say, when he knocks on my door?
What shall I say, when his feet enter softly,
Leaving the marks of his grave on my floor?
Enter my lord, come from your prison.
Come from your grave, for the moon is arisen.