Wolves follow close upon the dying one. Above the ponds, beyond the valleys,. They may be old, but still their gimlet eyes Reflect the stars that glittered in the spring, When young girls' faces echoed the Divine, And laughed, amazed, at every shining thing. You say you are picky? One for her country losing everything, One for her husband cowering in fear, Another for her children suffering - They made a swollen river with their tears! Let disapproving Plato turn his eyes, You are the priestess of this hallowed place; In secret groves sequestered by your cries, Love wins the martyr's palm in your embrace.
Translations from the French
For what is despair to the brave? All motionless they will remain Until the melancholy hour Of twilight, and the setting sun, When darkness drives them out. I would wander the sinuous curves of her flesh, And explore every valley and peak that it made, From the folds of her lap to the swell of her breasts;. Storm A worm hides in its hive At sea your boat circles a storm A floating brown eye In a pungent face. In bread and wine intended for his mouth They mix their ashes and their vile spit, Those hypocrites! Thus, the reader may find himself faced with the description of an animal carcass that has been crafted into a sonnet.
Charles Baudelaire - Wikiquote
Rescue I saved you You who almost drowned In that carnivore vortex Wretched ghost of a monster I saved you From immortality Bore your past Across my shoulders And flew you to safety When you dared compare yourself To slender Minerva. When I watch you go by, in all your indolence,. The tide recedes in breakers far and long, And comforts us with rhythms of the sea. In half-forgotten memories That drift in opalescent glass,. Reveille was sounding on barrack-squares,. And bells of thunder peal on high, Hurling invective to the sky, They clamor like a homeless tribe Of spirits baying in the night. Who can illuminate a darkened sky?
Like a monk who with secret delight Whips the flesh underneath his robe, Mixing pleasure and pain in the night For the health of his dissolute soul. Display your charms, a starving saltimbanque, And never show, behind your smile, the sob -- A moment's brief distraction for the mob. A gargoyle, chin cupped in my hands, I see The floating roofs of Paris, and converse With chimneys, steeples, and the tiny birds Whose songs are fragments of eternity. A beauty with a coat that's trimmed in fur, She dips a wine-glass in her falling hair, Her body shining like a star That rains destruction on her paladins; The darts of love and arrowheads of sin Are dulled and broken on her granite skin. Access provided by University of South Australia. Hating every vice But innocence and sensuality,.
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