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Émile VERHAEREN (1855-1916)
Parable
Among the dark golden pond
And the white water lilies,
A passing flight of slow herons
Drop shadows.
They open and close on the water
All big, like mantises;
And the passage of birds, up there,
Becomes indefinite, rowing wings.
A serious and theoretical fisherman
Extends towards them its clear net,
Can't see they're flapping in the air
The broad chimerical wings,
Nor what he watches, the day, the night,
To tighten it in stitches of boredom,
Below, in the vases, at the bottom of a hole,
Passes into the light, elusive and crazy.
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