THE LIGHT OF THE MOON
Paul Veriaine
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.
