The Flowers of Evil

THE FLOWERS OF EVIL

by

CHARLES BAUDELAIRE


TRANSLATED INTO

ENGLISH  VERSE


BY

CYRIL SCOTT


LONDON

ELKIN MATHEWS, VIGO STREET

M CM IX




DEDICATED TO ARTHUR SYMONS




  CONTENTS

  Benediction
  Echoes
  The Sick Muse
  The Venal Muse
  The Evil Monk
  The Enemy
  Ill-Luck
  Interior Life
  Man and the Sea
  Beauty
  The Ideal
  The Giantess
  Hymn to Beauty
  Exotic Perfume
  La Chevelure
  Sonnet XXVIII
  Posthumous Remorse
  The Balcony
  The Possessed One
  Semper Eadem
  All Entire
  Sonnet XLIII
  The Living Torch
  The Spiritual Dawn
  Evening Harmony
  Overcast Sky
  Invitation to a Journey
  "Causerie"
  Autumn Song
  Sisina
  To a Creolean Lady
  Moesta et Errabunda
  The Ghost
  Autumn Song
  Sadness of the Moon-Goddess
  Cats
  Owls
  Music
  The Joyous Defunct
  The Broken Bell
  Spleen
  Obsession
  Magnetic Horror
  The Lid
  Bertha's Eyes
  The Set of the Romantic Sun
  Meditation
  To a Passer-by
  Illusionary Love
  Mists and Rains
  The Wine of Lovers
  Condemned Women
  The Death of the Lovers
  The Death of the Poor




   Benediction


    When by the changeless Power of a Supreme Decree
    The poet issues forth upon this sorry sphere,
    His mother, horrified, and full of blasphemy,
    Uplifts her voice to God, who takes compassion on her.

   "Ah, why did I not bear a serpent's nest entire,
    Instead of bringing forth this hideous Child of Doom!
    Oh cursèd be that transient night of vain desire
    When I conceived my expiation in my womb!"

   "Yet since among all women thou hast chosen me
    To be the degradation of my jaded mate,
    And since I cannot like a love-leaf wantonly
    Consign this stunted monster to the glowing grate,"

   "I'll cause thine overwhelming hatred to rebound
    Upon the cursèd tool of thy most wicked spite.
    Forsooth, the branches of this wretched tree I'll wound
    And rob its pestilential blossoms of their might!"

    So thus, she giveth vent unto her foaming ire,
    And knowing not the changeless statutes of all times,
    Herself, amid the flames of hell, prepares the pyre;
    The consecrated penance of maternal crimes.

    Yet 'neath th' invisible shelter of an Angel's wing
    This sunlight-loving infant disinherited,
    Exhales from all he eats and drinks, and everything
    The ever sweet ambrosia and the nectar red.

    He trifles with the winds and with the clouds that glide,
    About the way unto the Cross, he loves to sing,
    The spirit on his pilgrimage; that faithful guide,
    Oft weeps to see him joyful like a bird of Spring.

    All those that he would cherish shrink from him with fear,
    And some that waxen bold by his tranquility,
    Endeavour hard some grievance from his heart to tear,
    And make on him the trial of their ferocity.

    Within the bread and wine outspread for his repast
    To mingle dust and dirty spittle they essay,
    And everything he touches, forth they slyly cast,
    Or scourge themselves, if e'er their feet betrod his way.

    His wife goes round proclaiming in the crowded quads--
   "Since he can find my body beauteous to behold,
    Why not perform the office of those ancient gods
    And like unto them, redeck myself with shining gold?"

   "I'll bathe myself with incense, spikenard and myrrh,
    With genuflexions, delicate viandes and wine,
    To see, in jest, if from a heart, that loves me dear,
    I cannot filch away the hommages divine."

   "And when of these impious jokes at length I tire,
    My frail but mighty hands, around his breast entwined,
    With nails, like harpies' nails, shall cunningly conspire
    The hidden path unto his feeble heart to find."

   "And like a youngling bird that trembles in its nest,
    I'll pluck his heart right out; within its own blood drowned,
    And finally to satiate my favourite beast,
    I'll throw it with intense disdain upon the ground!"

    Towards the Heavens where he sees the sacred grail
    The poet calmly stretches forth his pious arms,
    Whereon the lightenings from his lucid spirit veil
    The sight of the infuriated mob that swarms.

   "Oh blest be thou, Almighty who bestowest pain,
    Like some divine redress for our infirmities,
    And like the most refreshing and the purest rain,
    To sanctify the strong, for saintly ecstasies."

   "I know that for the poet thou wilt grant a chair,
    Among the Sainted Legion and the Blissful ones,
    That of the endless feast thou wilt accord his share
    To him, of Virtues, Dominations and of Thrones."

   "I know, that Sorrow is that nobleness alone,
    Which never may corrupted be by hell nor curse,
    I know, in order to enwreathe my mystic crown
    I must inspire the ages and the universe."

   "And yet the buried jewels of Palmyra old,
    The undiscovered metals and t