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Poems from the French of
Charles Baudelaire
Correspondences
Hymn
to Beauty
Correspondences
In
Nature’s temple, living peristyles
Sometimes
release notes in discordant keys;
Man
passes on through the familiar trees
Which
watch him from their hieroglyphic aisles.
Like
echoes long and distant, carillonned
In
oneness which is shadowy and deep,
As
vast as the bright daylight or as sleep,
Colours
and sounds and perfumes correspond.
There
are fresh odours like a baby’s skin,
Sweet
as oboes or green as meadow-land,
—And
others, rich, corrupt, triumphant, grand,
Swelling
the place things infinite are in,
Like
amber, incense, musk and ambergris,
Which
sing of sense and spiritual ecstasies.
(translated
by Alan Marshfield)
(back)
Hymn
to Beauty
Do
you, Oh Beauty, come from the dark pit
Or
from deep heaven? Infernal
and divine,
Your
gaze pours mixed both crime and benefit:
For
that alone men liken you to wine.
Your
eye contains the twilight and the dawn,
And
like a stormy night you scatter scents.
Your
kiss a philtre, an amphora your yawn:
They
make a youngster brave and heroes tense.
Do
you come from the stars or the abyss?
Fate
is bewitched and spaniels your sarong.
You
seed like dice catastrophe and bliss;
You
rule the world and sell it for a song.
You
mock and strut on men when they are gone;
Your
jewel, Horror, almost charms the most;
And
Murder, in the baubles you put on
Jives
horny on that belly which you boast.
You
are a candle: dazzled mayflies whirl,
Blessing
the flambeau, crackle and catch fire!
The
lover seems, panting above his girl,
Upon
his tomb in love-throes to expire.
What
if you came from heaven or below,
Great
monster Beauty, Terror’s ingenue?—
So
that your gaze, your smile, your ankle, show
An
Infinite I love and never knew.
What, brown eyes,
Angel, Siren, if you came,
My
only queen, from God or Satan, so
You
fashion—nymph of rhythm, perfume, flame—
A
world less hideous and hours less slow?
(translated
by Alan Marshfield)
(back)
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