The Burning-Glass Poem by Maurice Polydore-Marie-Bernard Maeterlinck

I watch the hours of long ago:
Their blue and secret depths I set
Under the burning-glass, Regret,
And watch a happier flora blow.

Hold up the glass o'er my desires!
Behold them through my soul, a glass!
At memory's touch the withered grass
Breaks forth into devouring fires.

Now above my thoughts I hold
The azure crystal, in whose heart
Suddenly unfolding start
The leaves of agonies borne of old,

Until those nights remote I see
Even to memory dead so long
That their sullen tears do wrong
To the green soul of hopes to be.