Emile Verhaeren

The hounds of despair, the hounds of the autumnal wind,

Gnaw with their howling the black echoes of evenings.

The darkness, immensely, gropes in the emptiness

For the moon, seen by the light of water.

From point to point, over there, the distant lights,

And in the sky, above, dreadful voices

Coming and going from the infinity of the marshes and planes

To the infinity of the valleys and the woods.

And roadways that stretch out like sails

And pass each other, coming unfolded in the distance, soundlessly,

While lengthening beneath the stars,

Through the shadows and the terror of the night.


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