Poem of the week

I've been a bit lax with the poem of the week, so here is one, right now, to make up for it.

Maurice Maeterlinck was born today in 1862, so it's only fitting we should have one of his:

STAGNANT HOURS

ERE are the old desires that pass,

The dreams of weary men, that die,

The dreams that faint and fail, alas!

And there the days of hope gone by!




Where to fly shall we find a place?

Never a star shines late or soon:

Weariness only with frozen face,

And sheets of blue in the icy moon.




Behold the fireless sick, and lo!

The sobbing victims of the snare!

Lambs whose pasture is only snow!

Pity them all, O Lord, my prayer!




For me, I wait the awakening call:

I pray that slumber leave me soon.

I wait until the sunlight fall

On hands yet frozen by the moon.

Also - Ingrid Bergman was born on this date in 1915, and concluded that like Shakespeare it was best to die on a date your family could remember, and so passed away on this date in 1982. She was a lady of class and talent and has long been one of my favourite actresses.

ETA: Oh! And also, William Spooner, originator of spoonerisms died on this date in 1930 .... Now, who can give me the best spoonerism?