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The Albatross: Difference between revisions
imported>Yann |translator= A. S. Kline |
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{{poem | {{TextQuality|75%}}{{poem | ||
|title= [[The Flowers of Evil]] | |title= [[The Flowers of Evil]] | ||
|author= Charles Baudelaire | |author= Charles Baudelaire | ||
|translator= | |translator= Roy Campbell | ||
|section= The Albatross | |section= The Albatross | ||
|previous= | |previous= | ||
|next= | |next= | ||
|notes= [[fr.ws:L’Albatros (Baudelaire)|L’Albatros]]. | |year= 1952 | ||
|notes= [[fr.ws:L’Albatros (Baudelaire)|L’Albatros]]. From ''Poems of Baudelaire'' (New York: Pantheon Books, 1952) as presented at http://fleursdumal.org | |||
}} | }} | ||
<div class="verse"> | <div class="verse"> | ||
<poem> | <poem> | ||
Sometimes for sport the men of loafing crews | |||
Snare the great albatrosses of the deep, | |||
The indolent companions of their cruise | |||
As through the bitter vastitudes they sweep. | |||
Scarce have they fished aboard these airy kings | |||
When helpless on such unaccustomed floors, | |||
They piteously droop their huge white wings | |||
trail | And trail them at their sides like drifting oars. | ||
How comical, how ugly, and how meek | |||
Appears this soarer of celestial snows! | |||
One, with his pipe, teases the golden beak, | |||
One, limping, mocks the cripple as he goes. | |||
The Poet | The Poet, like this monarch of the clouds, | ||
Despising archers, rides the storm elate. | |||
on earth, | But, stranded on the earth to jeering crowds, | ||
The great wings of the giant baulk his gait. | |||
</poem> | </poem> | ||
</div> | </div> | ||
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[[Category:Poetry by Charles Baudelaire]] | [[Category:Poetry by Charles Baudelaire]] | ||
[[Category:Works originally in French]] | [[Category:Works originally in French]] | ||
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{{PD-pma|1957}} | |||
Latest revision as of 21:41, 13 September 2012
| The Flowers of Evil ~ The Albatross written by Charles Baudelaire translated by Roy Campbell |
| L’Albatros. From Poems of Baudelaire (New York: Pantheon Books, 1952) as presented at http://fleursdumal.org | Link to further information |
Sometimes for sport the men of loafing crews
Snare the great albatrosses of the deep,
The indolent companions of their cruise
As through the bitter vastitudes they sweep.
Scarce have they fished aboard these airy kings
When helpless on such unaccustomed floors,
They piteously droop their huge white wings
And trail them at their sides like drifting oars.
How comical, how ugly, and how meek
Appears this soarer of celestial snows!
One, with his pipe, teases the golden beak,
One, limping, mocks the cripple as he goes.
The Poet, like this monarch of the clouds,
Despising archers, rides the storm elate.
But, stranded on the earth to jeering crowds,
The great wings of the giant baulk his gait.
|
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