THESE lips have long forgotten to bestow <br />Their kiss on blind eyes chiller than the snow, <br />Henceforth absorbed in their magnificent dream. <br />Drowsy as hounds deep in the grass they seem; <br />They watch the grey flocks on the sky-line pass, <br />Browsing on the moonlight scattered o'er the grass, <br />By skies as vague as their own life caressed. <br />They see, unvexed by envy or unrest, <br />The roses of joy that open on every hand, <br />The long green peace they cannot understand.<br /><br />Maurice Polydore-Marie-Bernard Maeterlinck<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lassitude-2/
