Religion
In Pious Mood
Translated by Osman Edwards (1896) · From Contemporary Belgian Poetry (1911)
The winter lifts its chalice of pure night to heaven.
And I uplift my heart, my night-worn heart in turn,
O Lord, my heart! to thy pale, infinite Inane,
And yet I know that nought the implenishable urn
May plenish, that nought is, whereof this heart dies fain;
And I know thee a lie, and with my lips make prayer
And with my knees; I know thy great, shut hands averse,
Thy great eyes closed, to all the clamours of despair;
It is I, who dream myself into the universe;
Have pity on my wandering wits' entire discord;
Needs must I weep my woe towards thy silence, Lord!
The winter lifts its chalice of pure night to heaven.
Cite this poem
MLA
Verhaeren, Emile. “In Pious Mood.” Translated by Osman Edwards. Poetry Codex, poetrycodex.com/poem/verhaeren/116/.
Chicago
Verhaeren, Emile. “In Pious Mood.” Translated by Osman Edwards. Poetry Codex. https://poetrycodex.com/poem/verhaeren/116/.
Read this poem with the Codex →