Maurice Polydore-Marie-Bernard Maeterlinck Poems

I sing the pale ballades of eld,
Of kisses lost without reward,
And lo, on love's luxurious sward,
The nuptials of the sick are held.
...

Have pity on the eyes morose
Wherein the soul its hope reveals;
On fated things that ne'er unclose,
And all who wait what night conceals.
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All the tears that I have shed,
All my kisses, lo, they pass
Thro' my mind as in a glass:
All my kisses whose joy is dead.
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I mourn the lips of yesterday,
Lips whose kisses are yet unborn,
And the old desires outworn,
Under sorrows hid away.
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'Neath the azure crystal bell
Of my listless melancholy
All my formless sorrows slowly
Sink to rest, and all is well;
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NARROW paths my passions tread:
Laughter rings there, sorrow cries;
Sick and sad, with half-shut eyes,
Thro' the leaves the woods have shed,
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The sense of contact!
Darkness lies between your fingers!
The cries of brazen instruments in a tem­pest!
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My soul is sick at the end of all,
Sick and sad, being weary too,
Weary of being so vain, so vain,
Weary and sad at the end of all,
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Mother, mother, do you not hear?
Mother, they come; there is news to tell!
– Give me your hands, my daughter dear:
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Now your lamps are all alight,
The sun's in the garden on every side
– Now your lamps are all alight;
...