The Flowers of Evil Part 6

Sadness of the Moon-G.o.ddess

To-night the Moon dreams with increased weariness, Like a beauty stretched forth on a downy heap Of rugs, while her languorous fingers caress The contour of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, before falling to sleep.

On the satin back of the avalanche soft, She falls into lingering swoons, as she dies, While she lifteth her eyes to white visions aloft, Which like efflorescence float up to the skies.

When at times, in her languor, down on to this sphere, She slyly lets trickle a furtive tear, A poet, desiring slumber to shun,

Takes up this pale tear in the palm of his hand (The colours of which like an opal blend), And buries it far from the eyes of the sun.

Cats

All ardent lovers and all sages prize, --As ripening years incline upon their brows-- The mild and mighty cats--pride of the house-- That like unto them are indolent, stern and wise.

The friends of Learning and of Ecstasy, They search for silence and the horrors of gloom; The devil had used them for his steeds of Doom, Could he alone have bent their pride to slavery.

When musing, they display those outlines chaste, Of the great sphinxes--stretched o'er the sandy waste, That seem to slumber deep in a dream without end:

From out their loins a fountainous furnace flies, And grains of sparkling gold, as fine as sand, Bestar the mystic pupils of their eyes.

Owls

Beneath the shades of sombre yews, The silent owls sit ranged in rows, Like ancient idols, strangely pose, And darting fiery eyes, they muse.

Immovable, they sit and gaze, Until the melancholy hour, At which the darknesses devour The faded sunset's slanting rays.

Their att.i.tude, instructs the wise, That he--within this world--who flies From tumult and from merriment;

The man allured by a pa.s.sing face, For ever bears the chastis.e.m.e.nt Of having wished to change his place.

Music

Oft Music possesses me like the seas!

To my planet pale, 'Neath a ceiling of mist, in the lofty breeze, I set my sail.

With inflated lungs and expanded chest, Like to a sail, On the backs of the heaped-up billows I rest-- Which the shadows veil--

I feel all the anguish within me arise Of a s.h.i.+p in distress; The tempest, the rain, 'neath the lowering skies,

My body caress; At times, the calm pool or the mirror clear Of my despair!

The Joyous Defunct

Where snails abound--in a juicy soil, I will dig for myself a fathomless grave, Where at leisure mine ancient bones I can coil, And sleep--quite forgotten--like a shark 'neath the wave.

I hate every tomb--I abominate wills, And rather than tears from the world to implore, I would ask of the crows with their vampire bills To devour every bit of my carca.s.s impure.

Oh worms, without eyes, without ears, black friends!

To you a defunct-one, rejoicing, descends, Enlivened Philosophers--offspring of Dung!

Without any qualms, o'er my wreckage spread, And tell if some torment there still can be wrung For this soul-less old frame that is dead 'midst the dead!

The Broken Bell

How sweet and bitter, on a winter night, Beside the palpitating fire to list, As, slowly, distant memories alight, To sounds of chimes that sing across the mist.

Oh, happy is that bell with hearty throat, Which neither age nor time can e'er defeat, Which faithfully uplifts its pious note, Like an aged soldier on his beat.

For me, my soul is cracked, and 'mid her cares, Would often fill with her songs the midnight airs And oft it chances that her feeble moan

Is like the wounded warrior's fainting groan, Who by a lake of blood, 'neath bodies slain, In anguish falls, and never moves again.

Spleen

The rainy moon of all the world is weary, And from its urn a gloomy cold pours down, Upon the pallid inmates of the mortuary, And on the neighbouring outskirts of the town.

My wasted cat, in searching for a litter, Bestirs its mangy paws from post to post; (A poet's soul that wanders in the gutter, With the jaded voice of a s.h.i.+v'ring ghost).

The smoking pine-log, while the drone laments, Accompanies the wheezy pendulum, The while amidst a haze of dirty scents,

--Those fatal remnants of a sick man's room-- The gallant knave of hearts and queen of spades Relate their ancient amorous escapades.