The Poems and Prose Poems of Charles Baudelaire Part 10

Those he would love looked sideways and with fear, Or, taking courage from his aspect mild, Sought who should first bring to his eye the tear, And spent their anger on the dreaming child.

With all the bread and wine the Poet must eat They mingled earth and ash and excrement, All things he touched were spurned beneath their feet; They mourned if they must tread the road he went.

His wife ran crying in the public square: "Since he has found me worthy to adore, Shall I not be as antique idols were, With gold and with bright colours painted o'er?

"I will be drunk with nard and frankincense.

With myrrh, and knees bowed down, and flesh and wine.

Can I not, smiling, in his love-sick sense, Usurp the homage due to beings divine?

"I will lay on him my fierce, fragile hand When I am weary of the impious play; For well these harpy talons understand To furrow to his heart their crimson way.

"I'll tear the red thing beating from his breast, To cast it with disdain upon the ground, Like a young bird torn trembling from the nest-- His heart shall go to gorge my favourite hound."

To the far heaven, where gleams a splendid throne, The Poet uplifts his arms in calm delight, And the vast beams from his pure spirit flown, Wrap all the furious peoples from his sight:

"Thou, O my G.o.d, be blest who givest pain, The balm divine for each imperfect heart, The strong pure essence cleansing every stain Of sin that keeps us from thy joys apart.

"Among the numbers of thy legions blest, I know a place awaits the poet there; Him thou hast bid attend the eternal feast That Thrones and Virtues and Dominions share.

"I know the one thing n.o.ble is a grief Withstanding earth's and h.e.l.l's destructive tooth, And I, through all my dolorous life and brief, To gain the mystic crown, must cry the truth.

"The jewels lost in Palmyra of old, Metals unknown, pearls of the outer sea, Are far too dim to set within the gold Of the bright crown that Time prepares for me.

"For it is wrought of pure unmingled light, Dipped in the white flame whence all flame is born-- The flame that makes all eyes, though diamond-bright, Seem obscure mirrors, darkened and forlorn."

GYPSIES TRAVELLING.

The tribe prophetic with the eyes of fire Went forth last night; their little ones at rest Each on his mother's back, with his desire Set on the ready treasure of her breast.

Laden with s.h.i.+ning arms the men-folk tread By the long wagons where their goods lie hidden; They watch the heaven with eyes grown wearied Of hopeless dreams that come to them unbidden.

The gra.s.shopper, from out his sandy screen, Watching them pa.s.s redoubles his shrill song; Dian, who loves them, makes the gra.s.s more green,

And makes the rock run water for this throng Of ever-wandering ones whose calm eyes see Familiar realms of darkness yet to be.

FRANCISCae MEae LAUDES.

Novis te cantabo chordis, O novelletum quod ludia In solitudine cordis.

Esto sertis implicata, O fmina delicata Per quam solvuntur peccata

Sicut benefic.u.m Lethe, Hauriam oscula de te, Quae imbuta es magnete.

Quum vitiorum tempestas Turbabat omnes semitas, Apparuisti, Deitas,

Velut stella salutaris In naufragiis amaris....

Suspendam cor tuis aris!

Piscina plena virtutis, Fons aeternae juventutis, Labris vocem redde mutis!

Quod erat spurc.u.m, cremasti; Quod rudius, exaequasti; Quod debile, confirmasti!

In fame mea taberna, In nocte mea lucerna, Recte me semper guberna.

Adde nunc vires viribus, Dulce balneum suavibus, Unguentatum odoribus!

Meos circa I umbos mica, O cast.i.tatis lorica, Aqua tincta seraphica;

Patera gemmis corusca, Panis salsus, mollis esca, Divinum vinum, Francisca!

ROBED IN A SILKEN ROBE.

Robed in a silken robe that s.h.i.+nes and shakes, She seems to dance whene'er she treads the sod, Like the long serpent that a fakir makes Dance to the waving cadence of a rod.

As the sad sand upon the desert's verge, Insensible to mortal grief and strife; As the long weeds that float among the surge, She folds indifference round her budding life.

Her eyes are carved of minerals pure and cold, And in her strange symbolic nature where An angel mingles with the sphinx of old,

Where all is gold and steel and light and air, For ever, like a vain star, unafraid s.h.i.+nes the cold hauteur of the sterile maid.

A LANDSCAPE.

I would, when I compose my solemn verse, Sleep near the heaven as do astrologers, Near the high bells, and with a dreaming mind Hear their calm hymns blown to me on the wind.

Out of my tower, with chin upon my hands, I'll watch the singing, babbling human bands; And see clock-towers like spars against the sky, And heavens that bring thoughts of eternity;

And softly, through the mist, will watch the birth Of stars in heaven and lamplight on the earth; The threads of smoke that rise above the town; The moon that pours her pale enchantment down.

Seasons will pa.s.s till Autumn fades the rose; And when comes Winter with his weary snows, I'll shut the doors and window-cas.e.m.e.nts tight, And build my faery palace in the night.

Then I will dream of blue horizons deep; Of gardens where the marble fountains weep; Of kisses, and of ever-singing birds-- A sinless Idyll built of innocent words.

And Trouble, knocking at my window-pane And at my closet door, shall knock in vain; I will not heed him with his stealthy tread, Nor from my reverie uplift my head;