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diff --git a/36098-0.txt b/36098-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5d2fb9c --- /dev/null +++ b/36098-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1644 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 36098 *** + +THE FLOWERS OF EVIL + +by + +CHARLES BAUDELAIRE + + +TRANSLATED INTO + +ENGLISH VERSE + + +BY + +CYRIL SCOTT + + +LONDON + +ELKIN MATHEWS, VIGO STREET + +M CM IX + + + + +DEDICATED TO ARTHUR SYMONS + + + + + CONTENTS + + Benediction + Echoes + The Sick Muse + The Venal Muse + The Evil Monk + The Enemy + Ill-Luck + Interior Life + Man and the Sea + Beauty + The Ideal + The Giantess + Hymn to Beauty + Exotic Perfume + La Chevelure + Sonnet XXVIII + Posthumous Remorse + The Balcony + The Possessed One + Semper Eadem + All Entire + Sonnet XLIII + The Living Torch + The Spiritual Dawn + Evening Harmony + Overcast Sky + Invitation to a Journey + "Causerie" + Autumn Song + Sisina + To a Creolean Lady + Moesta et Errabunda + The Ghost + Autumn Song + Sadness of the Moon-Goddess + Cats + Owls + Music + The Joyous Defunct + The Broken Bell + Spleen + Obsession + Magnetic Horror + The Lid + Bertha's Eyes + The Set of the Romantic Sun + Meditation + To a Passer-by + Illusionary Love + Mists and Rains + The Wine of Lovers + Condemned Women + The Death of the Lovers + The Death of the Poor + + + + + Benediction + + + When by the changeless Power of a Supreme Decree + The poet issues forth upon this sorry sphere, + His mother, horrified, and full of blasphemy, + Uplifts her voice to God, who takes compassion on her. + + "Ah, why did I not bear a serpent's nest entire, + Instead of bringing forth this hideous Child of Doom! + Oh cursèd be that transient night of vain desire + When I conceived my expiation in my womb!" + + "Yet since among all women thou hast chosen me + To be the degradation of my jaded mate, + And since I cannot like a love-leaf wantonly + Consign this stunted monster to the glowing grate," + + "I'll cause thine overwhelming hatred to rebound + Upon the cursèd tool of thy most wicked spite. + Forsooth, the branches of this wretched tree I'll wound + And rob its pestilential blossoms of their might!" + + So thus, she giveth vent unto her foaming ire, + And knowing not the changeless statutes of all times, + Herself, amid the flames of hell, prepares the pyre; + The consecrated penance of maternal crimes. + + Yet 'neath th' invisible shelter of an Angel's wing + This sunlight-loving infant disinherited, + Exhales from all he eats and drinks, and everything + The ever sweet ambrosia and the nectar red. + + He trifles with the winds and with the clouds that glide, + About the way unto the Cross, he loves to sing, + The spirit on his pilgrimage; that faithful guide, + Oft weeps to see him joyful like a bird of Spring. + + All those that he would cherish shrink from him with fear, + And some that waxen bold by his tranquility, + Endeavour hard some grievance from his heart to tear, + And make on him the trial of their ferocity. + + Within the bread and wine outspread for his repast + To mingle dust and dirty spittle they essay, + And everything he touches, forth they slyly cast, + Or scourge themselves, if e'er their feet betrod his way. + + His wife goes round proclaiming in the crowded quads-- + "Since he can find my body beauteous to behold, + Why not perform the office of those ancient gods + And like unto them, redeck myself with shining gold?" + + "I'll bathe myself with incense, spikenard and myrrh, + With genuflexions, delicate viandes and wine, + To see, in jest, if from a heart, that loves me dear, + I cannot filch away the hommages divine." + + "And when of these impious jokes at length I tire, + My frail but mighty hands, around his breast entwined, + With nails, like harpies' nails, shall cunningly conspire + The hidden path unto his feeble heart to find." + + "And like a youngling bird that trembles in its nest, + I'll pluck his heart right out; within its own blood drowned, + And finally to satiate my favourite beast, + I'll throw it with intense disdain upon the ground!" + + Towards the Heavens where he sees the sacred grail + The poet calmly stretches forth his pious arms, + Whereon the lightenings from his lucid spirit veil + The sight of the infuriated mob that swarms. + + "Oh blest be thou, Almighty who bestowest pain, + Like some divine redress for our infirmities, + And like the most refreshing and the purest rain, + To sanctify the strong, for saintly ecstasies." + + "I know that for the poet thou wilt grant a chair, + Among the Sainted Legion and the Blissful ones, + That of the endless feast thou wilt accord his share + To him, of Virtues, Dominations and of Thrones." + + "I know, that Sorrow is that nobleness alone, + Which never may corrupted be by hell nor curse, + I know, in order to enwreathe my mystic crown + I must inspire the ages and the universe." + + "And yet the buried jewels of Palmyra old, + The undiscovered metals and the pearly sea + Of gems, that unto me you show could never hold + Beside this diadem of blinding brilliancy." + + "For it shall be engendered from the purest fire + Of rays primeval, from the holy hearth amassed, + Of which the eyes of Mortals, in their sheen entire, + Are but the tarnished mirrors, sad and overcast!" + + + + + Echoes + + + In Nature's temple, living columns rise, + Which oftentimes give tongue to words subdued, + And Man traverses this symbolic wood, + Which looks at him with half familiar eyes, + + Like lingering echoes, which afar confound + Themselves in deep and sombre unity, + As vast as Night, and like transplendency, + The scents and colours to each other respond. + + And scents there are, like infant's flesh as chaste, + As sweet as oboes, and as meadows fair, + And others, proud, corrupted, rich and vast, + + Which have the expansion of infinity, + Like amber, musk and frankincense and myrrh, + That sing the soul's and senses' ecstasy. + + + + + The Sick Muse + + + Alas--my poor Muse--what aileth thee now? + Thine eyes are bedimmed with the visions of Night, + And silent and cold--I perceive on thy brow + In their turns--Despair and Madness alight. + + A succubus green, or a hobgoblin red, + Has it poured o'er thee Horror and Love from its urn? + Or the Nightmare with masterful bearing hath led + Thee to drown in the depths of some magic Minturne? + + I wish, as the health-giving fragrance I cull, + That thy breast with strong thoughts could for ever be full, + And that rhymthmic'ly flowing--thy Christian blood + + Could resemble the olden-time metrical-flood, + Where each in his turn reigned the father of Rhymes + Phoebus--and Pan, lord of Harvest-times. + + + + + The Venal Muse + + + Oh Muse of my heart--so fond of palaces old, + Wilt have--when New Year speeds its wintry blast, + Amid those tedious nights, with snow o'ercast, + A log to warm thy feet, benumbed with cold? + + Wilt thou thy marbled shoulders then revive + With nightly rays that through thy shutters peep? + And--void thy purse and void thy palace--reap + A golden hoard within some azure hive? + + Thou must, to earn thy daily bread, each night, + Suspend the censer like an acolyte, + Te-Deums sing, with sanctimonious ease, + + Or as a famished mountebank, with jokes obscene + Essay to lull the vulgar rabble's spleen; + Thy laughter soaked in tears which no one sees. + + + + + The Evil Monk + + + The cloisters old, expounded on their walls + With paintings, the Beatic Verity, + The which--adorning their religious halls, + Enriched the frigidness of their Austerity. + + In days when Christian seeds bloomed o'er the land, + Full many a noble monk unknown to-day, + Upon the field of tombs would take his stand, + Exalting Death in rude and simple way. + + My soul is a tomb where--bad monk that I be-- + I dwell and search its depths from all eternity, + And nought bedecks the walls of the odious spot. + + Oh sluggard monk! when shall I glean aright + From the living spectacle of my bitter lot, + To mold my handywork and mine eyes' Delight? + + + + + The Enemy + + + My childhood was nought but a ravaging storm, + Enlivened at times by a brilliant sun; + The rain and the winds wrought such havoc and harm + That of buds on my plot there remains hardly one. + + Behold now the Fall of ideas I have reached, + And the shovel and rake one must therefore resume, + In collecting the turf, inundated and breached, + Where the waters dug trenches as deep as a tomb. + + And yet these new blossoms, for which I craved, + Will they find in this earth--like a shore that is laved-- + The mystical fuel which vigour imparts? + + Oh misery!--Time devours our lives, + And the enemy black, which consumeth our hearts + On the blood of our bodies, increases and thrives! + + + + + Ill Luck + + + This heavy burden to uplift, + O Sysiphus, thy pluck is required! + And even though the heart aspired, + Art is long and Time is swift. + + Afar from sepulchres renowned, + To a graveyard, quite apart, + Like a broken drum, my heart, + Beats the funeral marches' sound. + + Many a buried jewel sleeps + In the long-forgotten deeps, + Far from mattock and from sound; + + Many a flower wafts aloft + Its perfumes, like a secret soft, + Within the solitudes, profound. + + + + + Interior Life + + + A long while I dwelt beneath vast porticoes, + While the ocean-suns bathed with a thousand fires, + And which with their great and majestic spires, + At eventide looked like basaltic grottoes. + + The billows, in rolling depictured the skies, + And mingled, in solemn and mystical strain, + The all-mighteous chords of their luscious refrain + With the sun-set's colours reflexed in mine eyes. + + It is there that I lived in exalted calm, + In the midst of the azure, the splendour, the waves, + While pregnant with perfumes, naked slaves + + Refreshed my forehead with branches of palm, + Whose gentle and only care was to know + The secret that caused me to languish so. + + + + + Man and the Sea + + + Free man! the sea is to thee ever dear! + The sea is thy mirror, thou regardest thy soul + In its mighteous waves that unendingly roll, + And thy spirit is yet not a chasm less drear. + + Thou delight'st to plunge deep in thine image down; + Thou tak'st it with eyes and with arms in embrace, + And at times thine own inward voice would'st efface + With the sound of its savage ungovernable moan. + + You are both of you, sombre, secretive and deep: + Oh mortal, thy depths are foraye unexplored, + Oh sea--no one knoweth thy dazzling hoard, + You both are so jealous your secrets to keep! + + And endless ages have wandered by, + Yet still without pity or mercy you fight, + So mighty in plunder and death your delight: + Oh wrestlers! so constant in enmity! + + + + + Beauty + + + I am lovely, O mortals, like a dream of stone, + And my bosom, where each one gets bruised in turn, + To inspire the love of a poet is prone, + Like matter eternally silent and stern. + + As an unfathomed sphinx, enthroned by the Nile, + My heart a swan's whiteness with granite combines, + And I hate every movement, displacing the lines, + And never I weep and never I smile. + + The poets in front of mine attitudes fine + (Which the proudest of monuments seem to implant), + To studies profound all their moments assign, + + For I have all these docile swains to enchant-- + Two mirrors, which Beauty in all things ignite: + Mine eyes, my large eyes, of eternal Light! + + + + + The Ideal + + + It could ne'er be those beauties of ivory vignettes; + The varied display of a worthless age, + Nor puppet-like figures with castonets, + That ever an heart like mine could engage. + + I leave to Gavarni, that poet of chlorosis, + His hospital-beauties in troups that whirl, + For I cannot discover amid his pale roses + A flower to resemble my scarlet ideal. + + Since, what for this fathomless heart I require + Is--Lady Macbeth you! in crime so dire; + --An Æschylus dream transposed from the South-- + + Or thee, oh great "Night" of Michael-Angelo born, + Who so calmly thy limbs in strange posture hath drawn, + Whose allurements are framed for a Titan's mouth. + + + + + The Giantess + + + I should have loved--erewhile when Heaven conceived + Each day, some child abnormal and obscene, + Beside a maiden giantess to have lived, + Like a luxurious cat at the feet of a queen; + + To see her body flowering with her soul, + And grow, unchained, in awe-inspiring art, + Within the mists across her eyes that stole + To divine the fires entombed within her heart. + + And oft to scramble o'er her mighty limbs, + And climb the slopes of her enormous knees, + Or in summer when the scorching sunlight streams + + Across the country, to recline at ease, + And slumber in the shadow of her breast + Like an hamlet 'neath the mountain-crest. + + + + + Hymn to Beauty + + + O Beauty! dost thou generate from Heaven or from Hell? + Within thy glance, so diabolic and divine, + Confusedly both wickedness and goodness dwell, + And hence one might compare thee unto sparkling wine. + + Thy look containeth both the dawn and sunset stars, + Thy perfumes, as upon a sultry night exhale, + Thy kiss a philter, and thy mouth a Grecian vase, + That renders heroes cowardly and infants hale. + + Yea, art thou from the planets, or the fiery womb? + The demon follows in thy train, with magic fraught, + Thou scatter'st seeds haphazardly of joy and doom, + Thou govern'st everything, but answer'st unto nought. + + O Loveliness! thou spurnest corpses with delight, + Among thy jewels, Horror hath such charms for thee, + And Murder 'mid thy mostly cherished trinklets bright, + Upon thy massive bosom dances amorously. + + The blinded, fluttering moth towards the candle flies, + Then frizzles, falls, and falters--"Blessings unto thee"-- + The panting swain that o'er his beauteous mistress sighs, + Seems like the Sick, that stroke their gravestones lovingly. + + What matter, if thou comest from the Heavens or Hell, + O Beauty, frightful ghoul, ingenuous and obscure! + So long thine eyes, thy smile, to me the way can tell + Towards that Infinite I love, but never saw. + + From God or Satan? Angel, Mermaid, Proserpine? + What matter if thou makest--blithe, voluptuous sprite-- + With rhythms, perfumes, visions--O mine only queen!-- + The universe less hideous and the hours less trite. + + + + + Exotic Perfume + + + When, with closed eyes, on a hot afternoon, + The scent of thine ardent breast I inhale, + Celestial vistas my spirit assail; + Caressed by the flames of an endless sun. + + A langorous island, where Nature abounds + With exotic trees and luscious fruit; + And with men whose bodies are slim and astute, + And with women whose frankness delights and astounds. + + By thy perfume enticed to this region remote, + A port I see, laden with mast and with boat, + Still wearied and torn by the distant brine; + + While the tamarisk-odours that dreamily throng + The air, round my slumberous senses intwine, + And mix, in my soul, with the mariners' song. + + + + + La Chevelure + + + O fleece, that foams down unto the shoulders bare! + O curls, O scents which lovely languidness exhale! + Delight! to fill this alcove's sombre atmosphere + With memories, sleeping deep within this tress of hair, + I'll wave it in the evening breezes like a veil! + + The shores of Africa, and Asia's burning skies, + A world forgotten, distant, nearly dead and spent, + Within thy depths, O aromatic forest! lies. + And like to spirits floating unto melodies, + Mine own, Belovèd! glides within thy sacred scent. + + There I will hasten, where the trees and humankind + With languor lull beside the hot and silent sea; + Strong tresses bear me, be to me the waves and wind! + Within thy fragrance lies a dazzling dream confined + Of sails and masts and flames--O lake of ebony! + + A loudly echoing harbour, where my soul may hold + To quaff, the silver cup of colours, scents and sounds, + Wherein the vessels glide upon a sea of gold, + And stretch their mighty arms, the glory to enfold + Of virgin skies, where never-ending heat abounds. + + I'll plunge my brow, enamoured with voluptuousness + Within this darkling ocean of infinitude, + Until my subtle spirit, which thy waves caress, + Shall find you once again, O fertile weariness; + Unending lullabye of perfumed lassitude! + + Ye tresses blue--recess of strange and sombre shades, + Ye make the azure of the starry Realm immense; + Upon the downy beeches, by your curls' cascades, + Among your mingling fragrances, my spirit wades + To cull the musk and cocoa-nut and lotus scents. + + Long--foraye--my hand, within thy heavy mane, + Shall scatter rubies, pearls, sapphires eternally, + And thus my soul's desire for thee shall never wane; + For art not thou the oasis where I dream and drain + With draughts profound, the golden wine of memory? + + + + + Sonnet XXVIII + + + With pearly robes that wave within the wind, + Even when she walks, she seems to dance, + Like swaying serpents round those wands entwined + Which fakirs ware in rhythmic elegance. + + So like the desert's Blue, and the sands remote, + Both, deaf to mortal suffering and to strife, + Or like the sea-weeds 'neath the waves that float, + Indifferently she moulds her budding life. + + Her polished eyes are made of minerals bright, + And in her mien, symbolical and cold, + Wherein an angel mingles with a sphinx of old, + + Where all is gold, and steel, and gems, and light, + There shines, just like a useless star eternally, + The sterile woman's frigid majesty. + + + + + Posthumous Remorse + + + Ah, when thou shalt slumber, my darkling love, + Beneath a black marble-made statuette, + And when thou'lt have nought for thy house or alcove, + But a cavernous den and a damp oubliette. + + When the tomb-stone, oppressing thy timorous breast, + And thy hips drooping sweetly with listless decay, + The pulse and desires of mine heart shall arrest, + And thy feet from pursuing their adventurous way, + + Then the grave, that dark friend of my limitless dreams + (For the grave ever readeth the poet aright), + Amid those long nights, which no slumber redeems + + 'Twill query--"What use to thee, incomplete spright + That thou ne'er hast unfathomed the tears of the dead"?-- + Then the worms will gnaw deep at thy body, like Dread. + + + + + The Balcony + + + Oh, Mother of Memories! Mistress of Mistresses! + Oh, thou all my pleasures, oh, thou all my prayers! + Can'st thou remember those luscious caresses, + The charm of the hearth and the sweet evening airs? + Oh, Mother, of Memories, Mistress of Mistresses! + + Those evenings illumed by the glow of the coal, + And those roseate nights with their vaporous wings, + How calm was thy breast and how good was thy soul, + 'Twas then we uttered imperishable things, + Those evenings illumed by the glow of the coal. + + How lovely the suns on those hot, autumn nights! + How vast were the heavens! and the heart how hale! + As I leaned towards you--oh, my Queen of Delights, + The scent of thy blood I seemed to inhale. + How lovely the sun on those hot, autumn nights! + + The shadows of night-time grew dense like a pall, + And deep through the darkness thine eyes I divined, + And I drank of thy breath--oh sweetness, oh gall, + And thy feet in my brotherly hands reclined, + The shadows of Night-time grew dense like a pall. + + I know how to call forth those moments so dear, + And to live my Past--laid on thy knees--once more, + For where should I seek for thy beauties but here + In thy langorous heart and thy body so pure? + I know how to call forth those moments so dear. + + Those perfumes, those infinite kisses and sighs, + Are they born in some gulf to our plummets denied? + Like rejuvenate suns that mount up to the skies, + That first have been cleansed in the depths of the tide; + Oh, perfumes! oh, infinite kisses and sighs! + + + + + The Possessed One + + + The sun is enveloped in crape! like it, + O Moon of my Life! wrap thyself up in shade; + At will, smoke or slumber, be silent, be staid, + And dive deep down in Dispassion's dark pit. + + I cherish thee thus! But if 'tis thy mood, + Like a star that from out its penumbra appears, + To float in the regions where madness careers, + Fair dagger! burst forth from thy sheath! 'tis good. + + Yea, light up thine eyes at the Fire of Renown! + Or kindle desire by the looks of some clown! + Thine All is my joy, whether dull or aflame! + + Just be what thou wilt, black night, dawn divine, + There is not a nerve in my trembling frame + But cries, "I adore thee, Beelzebub mine!" + + + + + Semper Eadem + + + "From whence it comes, you ask, this gloom acute, + Like waves that o'er the rocky headland fall?" + --When once our hearts have gathered in their fruit, + To live is a curse! a secret known to all, + + A grief, quite simple, nought mysterious, + And like your joy--for all, both loud and shrill, + Nay cease to clamour, be not e'er so curious! + And yet although your voice is sweet, be still! + + Be still, O soul, with rapture ever rife! + O mouth, with the childish smile! Far more than Life, + The subtle bonds of Death around us twine. + + Let--let my heart, the wine of falsehood drink, + And dream-like, deep within your fair eyes sink, + And in the shade of thy lashes long recline! + + + + + All Entire + + + The Demon, in my lofty vault, + This morning came to visit me, + And striving me to find at fault, + He said, "Fain would I know of thee; + + "Among the many beauteous things, + --All which _her_ subtle grace proclaim-- + Among the dark and rosy things, + Which go to make her charming frame, + + "Which is the sweetest unto thee"? + My soul! to Him thou didst retort-- + "Since all with her is destiny, + Of preference there can be nought. + + When all transports me with delight, + If aught deludes I can not know, + She either lulls one like the Night, + Or dazzles like the Morning-glow. + + That harmony is too divine, + Which governs all her body fair, + For powerless mortals to define + In notes the many concords there. + + O mystic metamorphosis + Of all my senses blent in one! + Her voice a beauteous perfume is, + Her breath makes music, chaste and wan. + + + + + Sonnet XLIII + + + What sayest thou, to-night, poor soul so drear, + What sayest--heart erewhile engulfed in gloom, + To the very lovely, very chaste, and very dear, + Whose god-like look hath made thee to re-bloom? + + To her, with pride we chant an echoing Hymn, + For nought can touch the sweetness of her sway; + Her flesh ethereal as the seraphim, + Her eyes with robe of light our souls array. + + And be it in the night, or solitude, + Among the streets or 'mid the multitude, + Her shadow, torch-like, dances in the air, + + And murmurs, "I, the Beautiful proclaim-- + That for my sake, alone ye love the Fair; + I am the Guardian Angel, Muse and Dame!" + + + + + The Living Torch + + + They stand before me now, those eyes that shine, + No doubt inspired by an Angel wise; + They stand, those God-like brothers that are mine, + And pour their diamond fires in mine eyes. + + From all transgressions, from all snares, they save, + Towards the Path of Joy they guide my ways; + They are my servants, and I am their slave; + And all my soul, this living torch obeys. + + Ye charming Eyes--ye have those mystic beams, + Of candles, burning in full day; the sun + Awakes, yet kills not their fantastic gleams: + + Ye sing the Awak'ning, they the dark oblivion; + The Awak'ning of my spirit ye proclaim, + O stars--no sun can ever kill your flame! + + + + + The Spiritual Dawn + + + When the morning white and rosy breaks, + With the gnawing Ideal, upon the debauchee, + By the power of a strange decree, + Within the sotted beast an Angel wakes. + + The mental Heaven's inaccessible blue, + For wearied mortals that still dream and mourn, + Expands and sinks; towards the chasm drawn. + Thus, cherished goddess, Being pure and true-- + + Upon the rests of foolish orgy-nights + Thine image, more sublime, more pink, more clear, + Before my staring eyes is ever there. + + The sun has darkened all the candle lights; + And thus thy spectre like the immortal sun, + Is ever victorious--thou resplendent one! + + + + + Evening Harmony + + + The hour approacheth, when, as their stems incline, + The flowers evaporate like an incense urn, + And sounds and scents in the vesper breezes turn; + A melancholy waltz--and a drowsiness divine. + + The flowers evaporate like an incense urn, + The viol vibrates like the wailing of souls that repine. + A melancholy waltz--and a drowsiness divine, + The skies like a mosque are beautiful and stern. + + The viol vibrates like the wailing of souls that repine; + Sweet souls that shrink from chaos vast and etern, + The skies like a mosque are beautiful and stern, + The sunset drowns within its blood-red brine. + + Sweet souls that shrink from chaos vast and etern, + Essay the wreaths of their faded Past to entwine, + The sunset drowns within its blood-red brine, + Thy thought within me glows like an incense urn. + + + + + Overcast Sky + + + Meseemeth thy glance, soft enshrouded with dew, + Thy mysterious eyes (are they grey, green or blue?), + Alternately cruel, and tender, and shy, + Reflect both the languor and calm of the sky. + + Thou recallest those white days--with shadows caressed, + Engendering tears from th' enraptured breast, + When racked by an anguish unfathomed that weeps, + The nerves, too awake, jibe the spirit that sleeps. + + At times--thou art like those horizons divine, + Where the suns of the nebulous seasons decline; + How resplendent art thou--O pasturage vast, + Illumed by the beams of a sky overcast! + + O! dangerous dame--oh seductive clime! + As well, will I love both thy snow and thy rime, + And shall I know how from the frosts to entice + Delights that are keener than iron and ice? + + + + + Invitation to a Journey + + + My sister, my dear + Consider how fair, + Together to live it would be! + Down yonder to fly + To love, till we die, + In the land which resembles thee. + Those suns that rise + 'Neath erratic skies, + --No charm could be like unto theirs-- + So strange and divine, + Like those eyes of thine + Which glow in the midst of their tears. + + There, all is order and loveliness, + Luxury, calm and voluptuousness. + + The tables and chairs, + Polished bright by the years, + Would decorate sweetly our rooms, + And the rarest of flowers + Would twine round our bowers + And mingle their amber perfumes: + The ceilings arrayed, + And the mirrors inlaid, + This Eastern splendour among, + Would furtively steal + O'er our souls, and appeal + With its tranquillous native tongue. + + There, all is order and loveliness, + Luxury, calm and voluptuousness. + + In the harbours, peep, + At the vessels asleep + (Their humour is always to roam), + Yet it is but to grant + Thy smallest want + From the ends of the earth that they come, + The sunsets beam + Upon meadow and stream, + And upon the city entire + 'Neath a violet crest, + The world sinks to rest, + Illumed by a golden fire. + + There, all is order and loveliness, + Luxury, calm and voluptuousness. + + + + + "Causerie" + + You are a roseate autumn-sky, that glows! + Yet sadness rises in me like the flood, + And leaves in ebbing on my lips morose, + The poignant memory of its bitter mind. + + In vain your hands my swooning breast embrace, + Oh, friend! alone remains the plundered spot, + Where woman's biting grip has left its trace: + My heart, the beasts devoured--seek it not! + + My heart is a palace pillaged by the herd; + They kill and take each other by the throat! + A perfume glides around your bosom bared-- + + O loveliness, thou scourge of souls--devote + Thine eyes of fire--luminous-like feasts, + To burn these rags--rejected by the beasts! + + + + + Autumn Song + + + I + + Shortly we will plunge within the frigid gloom, + Farewell swift summer brightness; all too short-- + I hear already sounding with a death-like boom + The wood that falls upon the pavement of the court. + + The whole of winter enters in my Being--pain, + Hate, honor, labour hard and forced--and dread, + And like the northern sun upon its polar plane + My heart will soon be but a stone, iced and red. + + I listen trembling unto every log that falls, + The scaffold, which they build, has not a duller sound, + My spirits waver, like the trembling tower walls + that shake--with every echoing blow the builders pound. + + Meeseemeth--as to these monotonous blows I sway, + They nail for one a coffin lid, or sound a knell-- + For whom? Autumn now--and summer yesterday! + This strange mysterious noise betokens a farewell. + + + II + + I love within your oblong eyes the verdant rays, + My sweet! but bitter everything to-day meseems: + And nought--your love, the boudoir, nor the flickering blaze, + Can replace the sun that o'er the screen streams. + + And yet bemother and caress me, tender heart! + Even me the thankless and the worthless one; + Beloved or sister--unto me the sweets impart + Of a glorious autumn or a sinking sun. + + Ephemeral task! the beckoning the beckoning empty tomb is set! + Oh grant me--as upon your knees my head I lay, + (Because the white and torrid summer I regret), + To taste the parted season's mild and amber ray. + + + + + Sisina + + + Imagine Diana in gorgeous array, + How into the forests and thickets she flies, + With her hair in the breezes, and flushed for the fray, + How the very best riders she proudly defies. + + Have you seen Théroigne, of the blood-thirsty heart, + As an unshod herd to attack he bestirs, + With cheeks all inflamed, playing up to his part, + As he goes, sword in hand, up the royal stairs? + + And so is Sisina--yet this warrior sweet, + Has a soul with compassion and kindness replete, + Inspired by drums and by powder, her sway + + Knows how to concede to the supplicants' prayers, + And her bosom, laid waste by the flames, has alway, + For those that are worthy, a fountain of tears. + + + + + To a Creolean Lady + + + In a country perfumed with the sun's embrace, + I knew 'neath a dais of purpled palms, + And branches where idleness weeps o'er one's face, + A Creolean lady of unknown charms. + + Her tint, pale and warm--this bewitching bride, + Displays a nobly nurtured mien, + Courageous and grand like a huntsman, her stride; + A tranquil smile and eyes serene. + + If, madam, you'd go to the true land of gain, + By the banks of the verdant Loire or the Seine, + How worthy to garnish some pile of renown. + + You'd awake in the calm of some shadowy nest, + A thousand songs in the poet's breast, + That your eyes would inspire far more than your brown. + + + + + Moesta et Errabunda + + + Oh, Agatha, tell! does thy heart not at times fly away? + Far from the city impure and the lowering sea, + To another ocean that blinds with its dazzling array, + So blue and so clear and profound, like virginity? + Oh, Agatha, tell! does thy heart not at times fly away? + + The sea, the vast ocean our travail and trouble consoles! + What demon hath gifted the sea with a voice from on high, + To sing us (attuned to an Æolus-organ that rolls + Forth a grumbling burden) a lenitive lullabye? + The sea, the vast ocean our travail and trouble consoles! + + Oh, carry me, waggons, oh, sailing-ships, help me depart! + Far, far, here the dust is quite wet with our showering tears, + Oh, say! it is true that Agatha's desolate heart, + Proclaimeth, "Away from remorse, and from crimes, and from cares," + Oh, carry me, waggons, oh, sailing ships, help me depart! + + How distant you seem to be, perfumed Elysian fields! + Wherein there is nothing but sunshine and love and glee; + Where all that one loves is so worthy, and lovingly yields, + And our hearts float about in the purest of ecstasy, + How distant you seem to be, perfumed Elysian fields! + + But the green paradise of those transient infantile loves, + The strolls, and the songs, and the kisses, and bunches of flowers, + The viols vibrating beyond, in the mountainous groves, + With the chalice of wine and the evening, entwined, in the bowers, + But the green paradise of those transient infantile loves. + + That innocent heaven o'erflowing with furtive delight, + Than China or India, is it still further away? + Or, could one with pityful prayers bring it back to our sight? + Or yet with a silvery voice o'er the ages convey + That innocent heaven o'erflowing with furtive delight! + + + + + The Ghost + + + Just like an angel with evil eye, + I shall return to thee silently, + Upon thy bower I'll alight, + With falling shadows of the night. + + With thee, my brownie, I'll commune, + And give thee kisses cold as the moon, + And with a serpent's moist embrace, + I'll crawl around thy resting-place. + + And when the livid morning falls, + Thou'lt find alone the empty walls, + And till the evening, cold 'twill be. + + As others with their tenderness, + Upon thy life and youthfulness, + I'll reign alone with dread o'er thee. + + + + + Autumn Song + + + They ask me--thy crystalline eyes, so acute, + "Odd lover--why am I to thee so dear?" + --Be sweet and keep silent, my heart, which is sear, + For all save the rude and untutored brute, + + Is loth its infernal depths to reveal, + And its dissolute motto engraven with fire, + Oh charmer! whose arms endless slumber inspire! + I abominate passion and wit makes me ill. + + So let us love gently. Within his retreat, + Foreboding, Love seeks for his arrows a prey, + I know all the arms of his battle array. + + Delirium and loathing--O pale Marguerite! + Like me, art thou not an autumnal ray, + Alas my so white, my so cold Marguerite! + + + + + Sadness of the Moon-Goddess + + + To-night the Moon dreams with increased weariness, + Like a beauty stretched forth on a downy heap + Of rugs, while her languorous fingers caress + The contour of her breasts, before falling to sleep. + + On the satin back of the avalanche soft, + She falls into lingering swoons, as she dies, + While she lifteth her eyes to white visions aloft, + Which like efflorescence float up to the skies. + + When at times, in her languor, down on to this sphere, + She slyly lets trickle a furtive tear, + A poet, desiring slumber to shun, + + Takes up this pale tear in the palm of his hand + (The colours of which like an opal blend), + And buries it far from the eyes of the sun. + + + + + Cats + + + All ardent lovers and all sages prize, + --As ripening years incline upon their brows-- + The mild and mighty cats--pride of the house-- + That like unto them are indolent, stern and wise. + + The friends of Learning and of Ecstasy, + They search for silence and the horrors of gloom; + The devil had used them for his steeds of Doom, + Could he alone have bent their pride to slavery. + + When musing, they display those outlines chaste, + Of the great sphinxes--stretched o'er the sandy waste, + That seem to slumber deep in a dream without end: + + From out their loins a fountainous furnace flies, + And grains of sparkling gold, as fine as sand, + Bestar the mystic pupils of their eyes. + + + + + Owls + + + Beneath the shades of sombre yews, + The silent owls sit ranged in rows, + Like ancient idols, strangely pose, + And darting fiery eyes, they muse. + + Immovable, they sit and gaze, + Until the melancholy hour, + At which the darknesses devour + The faded sunset's slanting rays. + + Their attitude, instructs the wise, + That he--within this world--who flies + From tumult and from merriment; + + The man allured by a passing face, + For ever bears the chastisement + Of having wished to change his place. + + + + + Music + + + Oft Music possesses me like the seas! + To my planet pale, + 'Neath a ceiling of mist, in the lofty breeze, + I set my sail. + + With inflated lungs and expanded chest, + Like to a sail, + On the backs of the heaped-up billows I rest-- + Which the shadows veil-- + + I feel all the anguish within me arise + Of a ship in distress; + The tempest, the rain, 'neath the lowering skies, + + My body caress; + At times, the calm pool or the mirror clear + Of my despair! + + + + + The Joyous Defunct + + + Where snails abound--in a juicy soil, + I will dig for myself a fathomless grave, + Where at leisure mine ancient bones I can coil, + And sleep--quite forgotten--like a shark 'neath the wave. + + I hate every tomb--I abominate wills, + And rather than tears from the world to implore, + I would ask of the crows with their vampire bills + To devour every bit of my carcass impure. + + Oh worms, without eyes, without ears, black friends! + To you a defunct-one, rejoicing, descends, + Enlivened Philosophers--offspring of Dung! + + Without any qualms, o'er my wreckage spread, + And tell if some torment there still can be wrung + For this soul-less old frame that is dead 'midst the dead! + + + + + The Broken Bell + + + How sweet and bitter, on a winter night, + Beside the palpitating fire to list, + As, slowly, distant memories alight, + To sounds of chimes that sing across the mist. + + Oh, happy is that bell with hearty throat, + Which neither age nor time can e'er defeat, + Which faithfully uplifts its pious note, + Like an agèd soldier on his beat. + + For me, my soul is cracked, and 'mid her cares, + Would often fill with her songs the midnight airs + And oft it chances that her feeble moan + + Is like the wounded warrior's fainting groan, + Who by a lake of blood, 'neath bodies slain, + In anguish falls, and never moves again. + + + + + Spleen + + + The rainy moon of all the world is weary, + And from its urn a gloomy cold pours down, + Upon the pallid inmates of the mortuary, + And on the neighbouring outskirts of the town. + + My wasted cat, in searching for a litter, + Bestirs its mangy paws from post to post; + (A poet's soul that wanders in the gutter, + With the jaded voice of a shiv'ring ghost). + + The smoking pine-log, while the drone laments, + Accompanies the wheezy pendulum, + The while amidst a haze of dirty scents, + + --Those fatal remnants of a sick man's room-- + The gallant knave of hearts and queen of spades + Relate their ancient amorous escapades. + + + + + Obsession + + + Great forests, you alarm me like a mighty fane; + Like organ-tones you roar, and in our hearts of stone, + Where ancient sobs vibrate, O halls of endless pain! + The answering echoes of your "De Profundis" moan. + + I hate thee, Ocean! hate thy tumults and thy throbs, + My spirit finds them in himself. This bitter glee + Of vanquished mortals, full of insults and of sobs, + I hear it in the mighteous laughter of the sea. + + O starless night! thy loveliness my soul inhales, + Without those starry rays which speak a language known, + For I desire the dark, the naked and the lone. + + But e'en those darknesses themselves to me are veils, + Where live--and, by the millions 'neath my eyelids prance, + Long, long departed Beings with familiar glance. + + + + + Magnetic Horror + + + "Beneath this sky, so livid and strange, + Tormented like thy destiny, + What thoughts within thy spirit range + Themselves?--O libertine reply." + + --With vain desires, for ever torn + Towards the uncertain, and the vast, + And yet, like Ovid--I'll not mourn-- + Who from his Roman Heaven was cast. + + O heavens, turbulent as the streams, + In you I mirror forth my pride! + Your clouds, which clad in mourning, glide, + + Are the hearses of my dreams, + And in your illusion lies the hell, + Wherein my heart delights to dwell. + + + + + The Lid + + + Where'er he may rove, upon sea or on land, + 'Neath a fiery sky or a pallid sun, + Be he Christian or one of Cythera's band, + Opulent Croesus or beggar--'tis one, + + Whether citizen, peasant or vagabond he, + Be his little brain active or dull. Everywhere, + Man feels the terror of mystery, + And looks upon high with a glance full of fear. + + The Heaven above, that oppressive wall; + A ceiling lit up in some lewd music hall, + Where the actors step forth on a blood-red soil; + + The eremite's hope, and the dread of the sot, + The Sky; that black lid of a mighty pot, + Where, vast and minute, human Races boil. + + + + + Bertha's Eyes + + + The loveliest eyes you can scorn with your wondrous glow: + O! beautiful childish eyes there abounds in your light, + A something unspeakably tender and good as the night: + O! eyes! over me your enchanting darkness let flow. + + Large eyes of my child! O Arcana profoundly adored! + Ye resemble so closely those caves in the magical creek; + Where within the deep slumbering shade of some petrified peak, + There shines, undiscovered, the gems of a dazzling hoard. + + My child has got eyes so profound and so dark and so vast, + Like thee! oh unending Night, and thy mystical shine: + Their flames are those thoughts that with Love and with Faith combine, + And sparkle deep down in the depths so alluring or chaste. + + + + + The Set of the Romantic Sun + + + How beauteous the sun as it rises supreme, + Like an explosion that greets us from above, + Oh, happy is he that can hail with love, + Its decline, more glorious far, than a dream. + + I saw flower, furrow, and brook.... I recall + How they swooned like a tremulous heart 'neath the sun, + Let us haste to the sky-line, 'tis late, let us run, + At least to catch one slanting ray ere it fall. + + But the god, who eludes me, I chase all in vain, + The night, irresistible, plants its domain, + Black mists and vague shivers of death it forbodes; + + While an odour of graves through the darkness spreads, + And on the swamp's margin, my timid foot treads + Upon slimy snails, and on unseen toads. + + + + + Meditation + + + Be wise, O my Woe, seek thy grievance to drown, + Thou didst call for the night, and behold it is here, + An atmosphere sombre, envelopes the town, + To some bringing peace and to others a care. + + Whilst the manifold souls of the vile multitude, + 'Neath the lash of enjoyment, that merciless sway, + Go plucking remorse from the menial brood, + From them far, O my grief, hold my hand, come this way. + + Behold how they beckon, those years, long expired, + From Heaven, in faded apparel attired, + How Regret, smiling, foams on the waters like yeast; + + Its arches of slumber the dying sun spreads, + And like a long winding-sheet dragged to the East, + Oh, hearken Beloved, how the Night softly treads! + + + + + To a Passer-by + + + Around me thundered the deafening noise of the street, + In mourning apparel, portraying majestic distress, + With queenly fingers, just lifting the hem of her dress, + A stately woman passed by with hurrying feet. + + Agile and noble, with limbs of perfect poise, + Ah, how I drank, thrilled through like a Being insane, + In her look, a dark sky, from whence springs forth the hurricane, + There lay but the sweetness that charms, and the joy that destroys. + + A flash--then the night.... O loveliness fugitive! + Whose glance has so suddenly caused me again to live, + Shall I not see you again till this life is o'er! + + Elsewhere, far away ... too late, perhaps never more, + For I know not whither you fly, nor you, where I go, + O soul that I would have loved, and _that_ you know! + + + + + Illusionary Love + + + When I behold thee wander by, my languorous love, + To songs of viols which throughout the dome resound, + Harmonious and stately as thy footsteps move, + Bestowing forth the languor of thy glance profound. + + When I regard thee, glowing in the gaslight rays, + Thy pallid brow embellished by a charm obscure, + Here where the evening torches light the twilight haze, + Thine eyes attracting me like those of a portraiture, + + I say--How beautiful she is! how strangely rich! + A mighty memory, royal and commanding tower, + A garland: and her heart, bruised like a ruddy peach, + Is ripe--like her body for Love's sapient power. + + Art thou, that spicy Autumn-fruit with taste supreme? + Art thou a funeral vase inviting tears of grief? + Aroma--causing one of Eastern wastes to dream; + A downy cushion, bunch of flowers or golden sheaf? + + I know that there are eyes, most melancholy ones, + Wherein no precious secret deeply hidden lies, + Resplendent shrines, devoid of relics, sacred stones, + More empty, more profound than ye yourselves, O skies? + + Yea, does thy semblance, not alone for me suffice, + To kindle senses which the cruel truth abhor? + All one to me! thy folly or thy heart of ice, + Decoy or mask, all hail! thy beauty I adore! + + + + + Mists and Rains + + + O last of Autumn and Winter--steeped in haze, + O sleepy seasons! you I love and praise, + Because around my heart and brain you twine + A misty winding-sheet and a nebulous shrine. + + On that great plain, where frigid blasts abound, + Where through the nights, so long, the vane whirls round, + My soul, more free than in the springtime soft, + Will stretch her raven wings and soar aloft, + + Unto an heart with gloomy things replete, + On which remain the frosts of former Times, + O pallid seasons, mistress of our climes + + As your pale shadows--nothing is so sweet, + Unless it be, on a moonless night a-twain, + On some chance couch to soothe to sleep our Pain. + + + + + The Wine of Lovers + + + To-day the Distance is superb, + Without bridle, spur or curb, + Let us mount on the back of wine + For Regions fairy and divine! + + Let's, like two angels tortured by + Some dark, delirious phantasy, + Pursue the distant mirage drawn + O'er the blue crystal of the dawn! + + And gently balanced on the wing + Of some obliging whirlwind, we + --In equal rapture revelling-- + + My sister, side by side will flee, + Without repose, nor truce, where gleams + The golden Paradise of my dreams! + + + + + Condemned Women + + + Like thoughtful cattle on the yellow sands reclined, + They turn their eyes towards the horizon of the sea, + Their feet towards each other stretched, their hands entwined, + They tell of gentle yearning, frigid misery. + + A few, with heart-confiding faith of old, imbued + Amid the darkling grove, where silver streamlets flow, + Unfold to each their loves of tender infanthood, + And carve the verdant stems of the vine-kissed portico. + + And others like unto nuns with footsteps slow and grave, + Ascend the hallowed rocks of ancient mystic lore, + Where long ago--St. Anthony, like a surging wave, + The naked purpled breasts of his temptation saw. + + And still some more, that 'neath the shimmering masses stroll, + Among the silent chasm of some pagan caves, + To soothe their burning fevers unto thee they call + O Bacchus! who all ancient wounds and sorrow laves. + + And others again, whose necks in scapulars delight, + Who hide a whip beneath their garments secretly, + Commingling, in the sombre wood and lonesome night, + The foam of torments and of tears with ecstasy. + + O virgins, demons, monsters, and O martyred brood! + Great souls that mock Reality with remorseless sneers, + O saints and satyrs, searchers for infinitude! + At times so full of shouts, at times so full of tears! + + You, to whom within your hell my spirit flies, + Poor sisters--yea, I love you as I pity you, + For your unsatiated thirsts and anguished sighs, + And for the vials of love within your hearts so true. + + + + + + The Death of the Lovers + + + We will have beds which exhale odours soft, + We will have divans profound as the tomb, + And delicate plants on the ledges aloft, + Which under the bluest of skies for us bloom. + + Exhausting our hearts to their last desires, + They both shall be like unto two glowing coals, + Reflecting the twofold light of their fires + Across the twin mirrors of our two souls. + + One evening of mystical azure skies, + We'll exchange but one single lightning flash, + Just like a long sob--replete with good byes. + + And later an angel shall joyously pass + Through the half-open doors, to replenish and wash + The torches expired, and the tarnished glass. + + + + + The Death of the Poor + + + It is Death that consoles--yea, and causes our lives; + 'Tis the goal of this Life--and of Hope the sole ray, + Which like a strong potion enlivens and gives + Us the strength to plod on to the end of the day. + + And all through the tempest, the frost and the snows, + 'Tis the shimmering light on our black sky-line; + 'Tis the famous inn which the guide-book shows, + Whereat one can eat, and sleep, and recline; + + 'Tis an angel that holds in his magic hands + The sleep, which ecstatic dream commands, + Who remakes up the beds of the naked and poor; + + 'Tis the fame of the gods, 'tis the granary blest, + 'Tis the purse of the poor, and his birth-place of rest, + To the unknown Heavens, 'tis the wide-open door. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Flowers of Evil, by Charles Baudelaire + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 36098 *** |