Maurice Maeterlinck AmenAt length the consecrating hour is here That sains the slave's extenuated sleep. And I who wait shall see its hands appear, Full of white roses in these caverns deep. 

I wait – at length to feel its cooling wind Strike on my heart, impregnable to lies, A paschal lamb lost amid marshes blind, A wound o'er which the surging waters rise.

I wait – for nights no morrow shall defy,I wait – for weakness nothing shall avail;To feel upon my hands its shadow lie,To see in peaceful tides its image pale.

I wait until those nights of thine shall show All my desires with cleansed eyes go by; For then my dreams shall bathe in evening's glow,And then within their crystal castle die.