Elevation
Above the ponds, beyond the valleys, The woods, the mountains, the clouds, the seas, Farther than the sun, the distant breeze, The spheres that wilt to infinity My spirit, you move with agility And,
THE SWAN
ANDROMACHE, I think of you! The stream, The poor, sad mirror where in bygone days Shone all the majesty of your widowed grief, The lying Simoпs flooded by your tears, Made all my fertile
The Venal Muse
O muse of my heart, lover of palaces, Will you bring, when January lets loose its sleet And its black evenings without solace, An ember to warm my violet feet? What will revive your
THE SKY
WHERE’ER he be, on water or on land, Under pale suns or climes that flames enfold; One of Christ’s own, or of Cythera’s band, Shadowy beggar or Crњsus rich with gold; Citizen, peasant, student,
THE LIVING FLAME
THEY pass before me, these Eyes full of light, Eyes made magnetic by some angel wise; The holy brothers pass before my sight, And cast their diamond fires in my dim eyes. They keep
Ill-Starred
To bear a weight that cannot be borne, Sisyphus, even you aren’t that strong, Although your heart cannot be torn Time is short and Art is long. Far from celebrated sepulchers Toward a solitary
DON JUAN IN HADES
WHEN Juan sought the subterranean flood, And paid his obolus on the Stygian shore, Charon, the proud and sombre beggar, stood With one strong, vengeful hand on either oar. With open robes and bodies
THE FLASK
THERE are some powerful odours that can pass Out of the stoppard flagon; even glass To them is porous. Oft when some old box Brought from the East is opened and the locks And
THE SADNESS OF THE MOON
THE Moon more indolently dreams to-night Than a fair woman on her couch at rest, Caressing, with a hand distraught and light, Before she sleeps, the contour of her breast. Upon her silken avalanche
THE OWLS
UNDER the overhanging yews, The dark owls sit in solemn state, Like stranger gods; by twos and twos Their red eyes gleam. They meditate. Motionless thus they sit and dream Until that melancholy hour
TO A MADONNA
MADONNA, mistress, I would build for thee An altar deep in the sad soul of me; And in the darkest corner of my heart, From mortal hopes and mocking eyes apart, Carve of enamelled
My Earlier Life
I’ve been home a long time among the vast porticos, Which the mariner sun has tinged with a million fires, Whose grandest pillars, upright, majestic and cold Render them the same, this evening, as
THE DANCE OF DEATH
CARRYING bouquet, and handkerchief, and gloves, Proud of her height as when she lived, she moves With all the careless and high-stepping grace, And the extravagant courtesan’s thin face. Was slimmer waist e’er in
Au Lecteur
La sottise, l’erreur, le péché, la lésine, Occupent nos esprits et travaillent nos corps, Et nous alimentons nos aimables remords, Comme les mendiants nourrissent leur vermine. Nos péchés sont têtus, nos repentirs sont lâches;
THE REMORSE OF THE DEAD
O SHADOWY Beauty mine, when thou shalt sleep In the deep heart of a black marble tomb; When thou for mansion and for bower shalt keep Only one rainy cave of hollow gloom; And