Poem By Maurice Maeterlinck

My soul her unused hands to pray
Folds, that hide the world away:
Lord, my broken dreams complete,
That Thine angels' lips repeat.

While beneath my wearied eyes
She breathes the prayers that in her rise-
Prayers that find my lids a tomb,
And whose lilies may not bloom:

While in dreams her barren breast
Hushes 'neath my gaze to rest-
Still her eyes from perils cower,
Such as wake by falsehood's power.

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Other poems of MAETERLINCK

Stagnant Hours

Here are the old desires that pass,
The dreams of weary men, that die,
The dreams that faint and fail, alas!
And there the days of hope gone by!

The Passions

Narrow paths my passions tread:
Laughter rings there, sorrow cries;
Sick and sad, with half-shut eyes,
Thro' the leaves the woods have shed,


These lips have long forgotten to bestow
Their kiss on blind eyes chiller than the snow,
Henceforth absorbed in their magnificent dream.
Drowsy as hounds deep in the grass they seem;

The Hospital

The hospital!
The hospital on the banks of the canal,
The hospital, and the month of July!
They are lighting a fire in the ward,


How my desires no more, alas,
Summon my soul to my eyelids' brink,
For with its prayers that ebb and pass
It too must sink,