Marvels of the invisible world

If Musset has already spoken, I do not wish to keep silent, And my solitary voice, in not letting it be, I hope, mute among you to remain.

If this night I should have my body, beneath flowers, My tender Spirit shall come with praises To greet you all.

My friends, good day: I return to life, and the dawn Seems to my eyes far more brilliant now Than a many-colored day;

And, beyond the tomb, ardent is the spark. The lovely veil of the blue, half-opening, mirrors Full of light and love.

Very beautiful is the heaven! Very sweet is the faithful homeland That this Spirit beheld, and loved, beloved land, Where its wing even, In taking its flight, a holy thought Was crossed by a ray of a moment, Living brightness of faith.

What lies beyond the tomb I shall tell some day, Where, if one does not believe, all hope grows cold, The soul can glimpse, When it has, like you, a divine flame The breast shines in light if virtue rules it Like a mirror agleam.

Without doubt, you know, that all this radiance Is in the soul that believes; and that points the way To the Spirit in sorrow, Who scrutinizes in the heaven, each star, each constellation, Seeking for itself a good guide, a sail, A beneficent love.

A. de Lamartine. n [1]

[cf.

Alphonse de Lamartine, see also the Communication of Lamartine.]