English poem
Xxiv
by Emile Verhaeren (1855–1916)
O quiet garden wherein nothing moves Save, in the glassy lake, The crimson fishes, each A fiery flake.
They are the memories that play within our thought, Calm and undistraught And clear, as in the water's breast Of confidence and rest.
The red fish leap and the clear water wells, In the abrupt and potent light, Amid the iris green and bleaching shells And motionless stones Around the border bright.
It is sweet to see them come and go In all the freshness and lucidity That bathes them so; We have no need to fear or fret Lest they should bring up from below Other than a fugitive regret.