Confession.
VILLIERS DE L’ISLE-ADAM
Since I have lost the words, the flower
Of youth and the fresh April breeze...
Give me thy lips; their perfumed dower
Shall be the whisper of the trees!
Since I have lost the deep sea’s sadness,
Her sobs, her restless surge, her graves...
Breathe but a word; its grief or gladness
Shall be the murmur of the waves!
Since in my soul a sombre blossom
Broods, and the suns of yore take flight...
O hide me in thy pallid bosom,
And it shall be the calm of night!