Flowers of Evil | Page 3

Titan's mouth.
The Giantess
I should have loved erewhile when Heaven conceived
Each day,
some child abnormal and obscene,
Beside a maiden giantess to have
lived,
Like a luxurious cat at the feet of a queen;
To see her body flowering with her soul,
And grow, unchained, in
awe-inspiring art,
Within the mists across her eyes that stole
To
divine the fires entombed within her heart.
And oft to scramble o'er her mighty limbs,
And climb the slopes of
her enormous knees,
Or in summer when the scorching sunlight
streams
Across the country, to recline at ease,
And slumber in the shadow of
her breast
Like an hamlet 'neath the mountain-crest.
Hymn to Beauty
O Beauty! dost thou generate from Heaven or from Hell?
Within thy
glance, so diabolic and divine,
Confusedly both wickedness and
goodness dwell,
And hence one might compare thee unto sparkling
wine.
Thy look containeth both the dawn and sunset stars,
Thy perfumes, as

upon a sultry night exhale,
Thy kiss a philter, and thy mouth a
Grecian vase,
That renders heroes cowardly and infants hale.
Yea, art thou from the planets, or the fiery womb?
The demon
follows in thy train, with magic fraught,
Thou scatter'st seeds
haphazardly of joy and doom,
Thou govern'st everything, but
answer'st unto nought.
O Loveliness! thou spurnest corpses with delight,
Among thy jewels,
Horror hath such charms for thee,
And Murder 'mid thy mostly
cherished trinklets bright,
Upon thy massive bosom dances
amorously.
The blinded, fluttering moth towards the candle flies,
Then frizzles,
falls, and falters" Blessings unto thee"
The panting swain that o'er his
beauteous mistress sighs,
Seems like the Sick, that stroke their
gravestones lovingly.
What matter, if thou comest from the Heavens or Hell,
O Beauty,
frightful ghoul, ingenuous and obscure!
So long thine eyes, thy smile,
to me the way can tell
Towards that Infinite I love, but never saw.
From God or Satan? Angel, Mermaid, Proserpine?
What matter if
thou makest blithe, voluptuous sprite
With rhythms, perfumes,
visions O mine only queen!
The universe less hideous and the hours
less trite.
Exotic Perfume
When, with closed eyes, on a hot afternoon,
The scent of thine ardent
breast I inhale,
Celestial vistas my spirit assail;
Caressed by the
flames of an endless sun.
A langorous island, where Nature abounds
With exotic trees and
luscious fruit;
And with men whose bodies are slim and astute,
And

with women whose frankness delights and astounds.
By thy perfume enticed to this region remote,
A port I see, laden with
mast and with boat,
Still wearied and torn by the distant brine;
While the tamarisk-odours that dreamily throng
The air, round my
slumberous senses intwine,
And mix, in my soul, with the mariners'
song.
La Chevelure
O fleece, that foams down unto the shoulders bare!
O curls, O scents
which lovely languidness exhale!
Delight! to fill this alcove's sombre
atmosphere
With memories, sleeping deep within this tress of hair,

I'll wave it in the evening breezes like a veil!
The shores of Africa, and Asia's burning skies,
A world forgotten,
distant, nearly dead and spent,
Within thy depths, O aromatic forest!
lies.
And like to spirits floating unto melodies,
Mine own, Beloved!
glides within thy sacred scent.
There I will hasten, where the trees and humankind
With languor lull
beside the hot and silent sea;
Strong tresses bear me, be to me the
waves and wind 1
Within thy fragrance lies a dazzling dream
confined
Of sails and masts and flames O lake of ebony!
A loudly echoing harbour, where my soul may hold
To quaff, the
silver cup of colours, scents and sounds,
Wherein the vessels glide
upon a sea of gold,
And stretch their mighty arms, the glory to enfold

Of virgin skies, where never-ending heat abounds.
I'll plunge my brow, enamoured with voluptuousness
Within this
darkling ocean of infinitude,
Until my subtle spirit, which thy waves
caress,
Shall find you once again, O fertile weariness;
Unending
lullabye of perfumed lassitude!

Ye tresses blue recess of strange and sombre shades,
Ye make the
azure of the starry Realm immense;
Upon the downy beeches, by
your curls' cascades,
Among your mingling fragrances, my spirit
wades
To cull the musk and cocoa-nut and lotus scents.
Long foraye my hand, within thy heavy mane,
Shall scatter rubies,
pearls, sapphires eternally,
And thus my soul's desire for thee shall
never wane;
For art not thou the oasis where I dream and drain

With draughts profound, the golden wine of memory?
Sonnet XXVIII
With pearly robes that wave within the wind,
Even when she walks,
she seems to dance,
Like swaying serpents round those wands
entwined
Which fakirs ware in rhythmic elegance.
So like the desert's Blue, and the sands remote,
Both, deaf to mortal
suffering and to strife,
Or like the sea-weeds 'neath the waves that
float,
Indifferently she moulds her budding life.
Her polished eyes are made of minerals bright,
And in her mien,
symbolical and cold,
Wherein an angel mingles with a sphinx of old,
Where all is gold, and steel, and gems, and light,
There shines, just
like a useless star eternally,
The sterile woman's frigid majesty.
Posthumous Remorse
Ah, when thou shalt slumber, my darkling love,
Beneath a black
marble-made statuette,
And when thou'lt have nought for thy house or
alcove,
But