Flowers of Evil | Page 8

I saw flower, furrow, and brook. ... I recall
How they swooned like a
tremulous heart 'neath the sun,
Let us haste to the sky-line, 'tis late, let
us run,
At least to catch one slanting ray ere it fall.
But the god, who eludes me, I chase all in vain,
The night, irresistible,

plants its domain,
Black mists and vague shivers of death it forbodes;
While an odour of graves through the darkness spreads,
And on the
swamp's margin, my timid foot treads
Upon slimy snails, and on
unseen toads.
Meditation
Be wise, O my Woe, seek thy grievance to drown,
Thou didst call for
the night, and behold it is here,
An atmosphere sombre, envelopes the
town,
To some bringing peace and to others a care.
Whilst the manifold souls of the vile multitude,
'Neath the lash of
enjoyment, that merciless sway,
Go plucking remorse from the
menial brood,
From them far, O my grief, hold my hand, come this way.
Behold
how they beckon, those years, long expired,
From Heaven, in faded
apparel attired,
How Regret, smiling, foams on the waters like yeast;
Its arches of slumber the dying sun spreads,
And like a long
winding-sheet dragged to the East,
Oh, hearken Beloved, how the
Night softly treads!
To a Passer-by
Around me thundered the deafening noise of the street,
In mourning
apparel, portraying majestic distress,
With queenly ringers, just lifting
the hem of her dress,
A stately woman passed by with hurrying feet.
Agile and noble, with limbs of perfect poise.
Ah, how I drank,
thrilled through like a Being insane,
In her look, a dark sky, from
whence springs forth the
hurricane,
There lay but the sweetness that
charms, and the joy that
destroys.
A flash then the night. . . . O loveliness fugitive!
Whose glance has so

suddenly caused me again to live,
Shall I not see you again till this
life is o'er!
Elsewhere, far away ... too late, perhaps never more,
For I know not
whither you fly, nor you, where I go,
O soul that I would have loved,
and that you know!
Illusionary Love
When I behold thee wander by, my languorous love,
To songs of
viols which throughout the dome resound,
Harmonious and stately as
thy footsteps move,
Bestowing forth the languor of thy glance
profound.
When I regard thee, glowing in the gaslight rays,
Thy pallid brow
embellished by a charm obscure,
Here where the evening torches
light the twilight haze,
Thine eyes attracting me like those of a
portraiture,
I say How beautiful she is! how strangely rich!
A mighty memory,
royal and commanding tower,
A garland : and her heart, bruised like
a ruddy peach,
Is ripe like her body for Love's sapient power.
Art thou, that spicy Autumn-fruit with taste supreme?
Art thou a
funeral vase inviting tears of grief?
Aroma causing one of Eastern
wastes to dream;
A downy cushion, bunch of flowers or golden
sheaf?
I know that there are eyes, most melancholy ones,
Wherein no
precious secret deeply hidden lies,
Resplendent shrines, devoid of
relics, sacred stones,
More empty, more profound than ye yourselves,
O skies?
Yea, does thy semblance, not alone for me suffice,
To kindle senses
which the cruel truth abhor?
All one to me! thy folly or thy heart of

ice,
Decoy or mask, all hail! thy beauty I adore!
Mists and Rains
O last of Autumn and Winter steeped in haze,
O sleepy seasons! you I
love and praise,
Because around my heart and brain you twine
A
misty winding-sheet and a nebulous shrine.
On that great plain, where frigid blasts abound,
Where through the
nights, so long, the vane whirls round,
My soul, more free than in the
springtime soft,
Will stretch her raven wings and soar aloft,
Unto an heart with gloomy things replete,
On which remain the frosts
of former Times,
O pallid seasons, mistress of our climes
As your pale shadows nothing is so sweet,
Unless it be, on a
moonless night a-twain,
On some chance couch to soothe to sleep our
Pain.
The Wine of Lovers
To-day the Distance is superb,
Without bridle, spur or curb,
Let us
mount on the back of wine
For Regions fairy and divine!
Let's, like two angels tortured by
Some dark, delirious phantasy,

Pursue the distant mirage drawn
O'er the blue crystal of the dawn!
And gently balanced on the wing
Of some obliging whirlwind, we

In equal rapture revelling
My sister, side by side will flee,
Without repose, nor truce, where
gleams
The golden Paradise of my dreams!
Condemned Women
Like thoughtful cattle on the yellow sands reclined,
They turn their

eyes towards the horizon of the sea,
Their feet towards each other
stretched, their hands
entwined,
They tell of gentle yearning, frigid
misery.
A few, with heart-confiding faith of old, imbued
Amid the darkling
grove, where silver streamlets flow,
Unfold to each their loves of
tender infanthood,
And carve the verdant stems of the vine-kissed
portico.
And others like unto nuns with footsteps slow and grave,
Ascend the
hallowed rocks of ancient mystic lore,
Where long ago St. Anthony,
like a surging wave,
The naked purpled breasts of his temptation saw.
And still some more, that 'neath the shimmering masses
stroll,
Among the silent chasm of