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Meditation: Difference between revisions
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|title = [[The Flowers of Evil]] | |title = [[The Flowers of Evil]] | ||
|author = Charles Baudelaire | |author = Charles Baudelaire | ||
|translator= | |translator= Roy Campbell | ||
|section = | |section = Meditation | ||
|previous = | |previous = | ||
|next = | |next = | ||
|notes = [[fr.ws:Recueillement|Recueillement]]. | |notes = [[fr.ws:Recueillement|Recueillement]]. From ''Poems of Baudelaire'' (New York: Pantheon Books, 1952), as presented at http://fleursdumal.org | ||
}} | }} | ||
<div class="verse"> | <div class="verse"> | ||
<poem> | <poem> | ||
Be good, my Sorrow: hush now: settle down. | |||
You | You sighed for dusk, and now it comes: look there! | ||
A | A denser atmosphere obscures the town, | ||
To some restoring peace, to others care. | |||
While the | While the lewd multitude, like hungry beasts, | ||
By pleasure scourged (no thug so fierce as he!) | |||
Go forth to seek remorse among their feasts — | |||
Come, take my hand; escape from them with me. | |||
From balconies of sky, around us yet, | |||
Lean the dead years in fashions that have ceased. | |||
Out of the depth of waters smiles Regret. | |||
The sun sinks moribund beneath an arch, | |||
And like a long shroud rustling from the East, | |||
Hark, Love, the gentle Night is on the march. | |||
</poem> | </poem> | ||
</div> | </div> | ||
[[Category:Works originally in French]] | [[Category:Works originally in French]] | ||
{{PD-pma|1957}} | |||
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Revision as of 07:49, 21 May 2012
| The Flowers of Evil ~ Meditation written by Charles Baudelaire translated by Roy Campbell |
| Recueillement. From Poems of Baudelaire (New York: Pantheon Books, 1952), as presented at http://fleursdumal.org | Link to further information |
Be good, my Sorrow: hush now: settle down.
You sighed for dusk, and now it comes: look there!
A denser atmosphere obscures the town,
To some restoring peace, to others care.
While the lewd multitude, like hungry beasts,
By pleasure scourged (no thug so fierce as he!)
Go forth to seek remorse among their feasts —
Come, take my hand; escape from them with me.
From balconies of sky, around us yet,
Lean the dead years in fashions that have ceased.
Out of the depth of waters smiles Regret.
The sun sinks moribund beneath an arch,
And like a long shroud rustling from the East,
Hark, Love, the gentle Night is on the march.
|
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