A Selection from Les Fleurs Du Mal by Charles Baudelaire
covers a soul moaning with ennui and fright,
and the whole horizon is rounded by
a black day pouring down, sadder than any night;
When the earth is turned to a muggy dungeon
where Hope is the shadow of a bat, feeling
with feeble, flapping wings along the grunge on
walls and bumping its head against a putrid ceiling;
When the crawling spiders of scattershot rains
drop cold bars that imprison us,
water trickles along the channels in our brains,
and the people around us feel poisonous—
the bells speak out suddenly with fury
and lance the sky with dreadful howls,
and frightened strays and exiles, sorry
and homeless, rage from deep within their bowels.
Long hearses roll, slow, silent, hypnotic,
through my soul. Hope, defeated, cries
out its atrocious anguish—despotic.
A black hood slides over my ferocious eyes.
Poetry by Chaucer Whethers
Read 215 times
Written on 2021-01-25 at 12:00
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Spleen: When a Heavy Lid of Low Sky... (Baudelaire)
When a heavy lid of low skycovers a soul moaning with ennui and fright,
and the whole horizon is rounded by
a black day pouring down, sadder than any night;
When the earth is turned to a muggy dungeon
where Hope is the shadow of a bat, feeling
with feeble, flapping wings along the grunge on
walls and bumping its head against a putrid ceiling;
When the crawling spiders of scattershot rains
drop cold bars that imprison us,
water trickles along the channels in our brains,
and the people around us feel poisonous—
the bells speak out suddenly with fury
and lance the sky with dreadful howls,
and frightened strays and exiles, sorry
and homeless, rage from deep within their bowels.
Long hearses roll, slow, silent, hypnotic,
through my soul. Hope, defeated, cries
out its atrocious anguish—despotic.
A black hood slides over my ferocious eyes.
Poetry by Chaucer Whethers
Read 215 times
Written on 2021-01-25 at 12:00
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text| Texts |
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