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.

Translated by Bernard Miall
(Contributed by ivan on Saturday, February 5th, 2011)
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Belgian Literature

European Literature