The Light of the Moon

France| Paul Verlaine

Your soul is a sealed garden, and there go

With masque and bergamasque fair companies

Playing on lutes and dancing and as though

Sad under their fantastic fripperies.

Though they in minor keys go caroling

Of love the conqueror and of life the boon

They seem to doubt the happiness they sing

And the song melts into the light of the moon.

The sad light of the moon, so lovely fair

That all the birds dream in the leafy shade

And the slim fountains sob into the air

Among the marble statues in the glade.