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Evening harmony: Difference between revisions
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|title=[[The Flowers of Evil]] | |title = [[The Flowers of Evil]] | ||
|author=Charles Baudelaire | |author = Charles Baudelaire | ||
|section= | |translator= Roy Campbell | ||
|previous= | |section = Evening harmony | ||
|next= | |previous = | ||
|notes= | |next = | ||
|notes = [[fr.ws:Harmonie du soir|Harmonie du soir]]. ''Poems of Baudelaire'' (New York: Pantheon Books, 1952), as presented at http://fleursdumal.org | |||
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<poem> | |||
Now comes the eve, when on its stem vibrates | |||
Each flower, evaporating like a censer; | |||
When sounds and scents in the dark air grow denser; | |||
Drowsed swoon through which a mournful waltz pulsates! | |||
Each flower evaporates as from a censer; | |||
The fiddle like a hurt heart palpitates; | |||
Drowsed swoon through which a mournful waltz pulsates; | |||
The sad, grand sky grows, altar-like, immenser. | |||
The fiddle, like a hurt heart, palpitates, | |||
A heart that hates oblivion, ruthless censor. | |||
The sad, grand sky grows, altar-like, immenser. | |||
The sun in its own blood coagulates... | |||
A heart that hates oblivion, ruthless censor, | |||
The whole of the bright past resuscitates. | |||
The sun in its own blood coagulates... | |||
And, monstrance-like, your memory flames intenser! | |||
— Roy Campbell, Poems of Baudelaire (New York: Pantheon Books, 1952) | |||
</poem> | |||
</div> | |||
: | [[Category:Works originally in French]] | ||
[[Category:Poetry by Charles Baudelaire]] | |||
{{PD-pma|1957}} | |||
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Latest revision as of 19:51, 20 May 2012
| The Flowers of Evil ~ Evening harmony written by Charles Baudelaire translated by Roy Campbell |
| Harmonie du soir. Poems of Baudelaire (New York: Pantheon Books, 1952), as presented at http://fleursdumal.org | Link to further information |
Now comes the eve, when on its stem vibrates
Each flower, evaporating like a censer;
When sounds and scents in the dark air grow denser;
Drowsed swoon through which a mournful waltz pulsates!
Each flower evaporates as from a censer;
The fiddle like a hurt heart palpitates;
Drowsed swoon through which a mournful waltz pulsates;
The sad, grand sky grows, altar-like, immenser.
The fiddle, like a hurt heart, palpitates,
A heart that hates oblivion, ruthless censor.
The sad, grand sky grows, altar-like, immenser.
The sun in its own blood coagulates...
A heart that hates oblivion, ruthless censor,
The whole of the bright past resuscitates.
The sun in its own blood coagulates...
And, monstrance-like, your memory flames intenser!
— Roy Campbell, Poems of Baudelaire (New York: Pantheon Books, 1952)
|
Works by this author are in the public domain in countries where the copyright term is the author's life plus 68 years or less. cs | de | en | eo | es | fr | he | pl | ru | zh |