BIEN LOIN D'ICI
HERE is the chamber consecrate, Wherein this maiden delicate, And enigmatically sedate, Fans herself while the moments creep, Upon her cushions half-asleep, And hears the fountains plash and weep. Dorothy’s chamber undefiled. The winds
Harmonie du Soir
Voici venir les temps oщ vibrant sur sa tige Chaque fleur s’йvapore ainsi qu’un encensoir; Les sons et les parfums tournent dans l’air du soir; Valse mйlancolique et langoureux vertige! Chaque fleur s’йvapore ainsi
Correspondences
Nature is a temple where the living pillars Let go sometimes a blurred speech- A Forest of symbols passes through a man’s reach And observes him with a familiar regard. Like the distant echoes
THE IRREPARABLE
AN we suppress the old Remorse Who bends our heart beneath his stroke, Who feeds, as worms feed on the corse, Or as the acorn on the oak? Can we suppress the old Remorse?
Le Gout du Néant
Morne esprit, autrefois amoureux de la lutte, L’Espoir, dont l’éperon attisait ton ardeur, Ne veut plus t’enfourcher! Couche-toi sans pudeur, Vieux cheval dont le pied à chaque obstacle bute. Résigne-toi, mon coeur; dors ton
Spleen (IV)
Quand le ciel bas et lourd pèse comme un couvercle Sur l’esprit gémissant en proie aux longs ennuis, Et que de l’horizon embrassant tout le cercle Il nous verse un jour noir plus triste
THE SEVEN OLD MEN
O SWARMING city, city full of dreams, Where in a full day the spectre walks and speaks; Mighty colossus, in your narrow veins My story flows as flows the rising sap. One morn, disputing
THE EYES OF BEAUTY
YOU are a sky of autumn, pale and rose; But all the sea of sadness in my blood Surges, and ebbing, leaves my lips morose, Salt with the memory of the bitter flood. In
Une Charogne
Rappelez-vous l’objet que nous vîmes, mon âme, Ce beau matin d’été si doux : Au détour d’un sentier une charogne infame Sur un lit semé de cailloux, Les jambes en l’air, comme une femme
The Bad Monk
On the great walls of ancient cloisters were nailed Murals displaying Truth the saint, Whose effect, reheating the pious entrails Brought to an austere chill a warming paint. In the times when Christ was
TO A BROWN BEGGAR-MAID
WHITE maiden with the russet hair, Whose garments, through their holes, declare That poverty is part of you, And beauty too. To me, a sorry bard and mean, Your youthful beauty, frail and lean,
SONNET OF AUTUMN
THEY say to me, thy clear and crystal eyes: “Why dost thou love me so, strange lover mine?” Be sweet, be still! My heart and soul despise All save that antique brute-like faith of
EXOTIC PERFUME
WHEN with closed eyes in autumn’s eves of gold I breathe the burning odours of your breast, Before my eyes the hills of happy rest Bathed in the sun’s monotonous fires, unfold. Islands of
Beacons
Reubens, river of forgetfulness, garden of sloth, Pillow of wet flesh that one cannot love, But where life throngs and seethes without cease Like the air in the sky and the water in the
MUSIC
MUSIC doth uplift me like a sea Towards my planet pale, Then through dark fogs or heaven’s infinity I lift my wandering sail. With breast advanced, drinking the winds that flee, And through the