BEAUTY
by: Charles Baudelaire
AM as lovely as a dream in stone,- And this my heart where each finds death in turn,
- Inspires the poet with a love as lone
- As clay eternal and as taciturn.
- Swan-white of heart, a sphinx no mortal knows,
- My throne is in the heaven's azure deep;
- I hate all movements that disturb my pose,
- I smile not ever, neither do I weep.
- Before my monumental attitudes,
- That breathe a soul into the plastic arts,
- My poets pray in austere studious moods,
- For I, to fold enchantment round their hearts,
- Have pools of light where beauty flames and dies,
- The placid mirrors of my luminous eyes.
Talk about yr dark nights of the soul
to contrast the T.S. Eliot, here we go:
The Litanies of Satan
Oh you, the wisest and the most beautiful of Angels,
God betrayed by fate and deprived of praises,
Oh Satan, take pity on my long misery!
Oh Prince of exile, you who were wronged
And who, defeated, always return stronger,
Oh Satan, take pity on my long misery!
You who know all, great king of subterranean things,
Familiar healer of human anguish,
Oh Satan, take pity on my long misery!
You who, even to the lepers, to the cursed pariahs,
Teach through love the taste of Paradise,
Oh Satan, take pity on my long misery!
Oh you who from Death, your old, strong lover,
Engendered Hope, -- a charming madwoman!
Oh Satan, take pity on my long misery!
You who lend the condemned man that calm and haughty gaze
That condemns an entire people around the gallows.
Oh Satan, take pity on my long misery!
You who know in what corners of envious lands
The jealous God hid precious gems,
Oh Satan, take pity on my long misery!
You whose clear eye knows the deep arsenals
In which sleep buried the multitude of metals,
Oh Satan, take pity on my long misery!
You whose large hand hides precipices
From the sleepwalker wandering on the edge of buildings,
Oh Satan, take pity on my long misery!
You who, magically, make supple the old bones
Of the drunkard run late and trampled by horses,
Oh Satan, take pity on my long misery!
You who, to console the frail man in pain,
Taught us to mix saltpeter and sulphur,
Oh Satan, take pity on my long misery!
You who place your mark, oh subtle accomplice,
On the brow of pitiless and vile Croesus,
Oh Satan, take pity on my long misery!
You who set in the eyes and in the hearts of girls
The cult of the wound and the love of rags,
Oh Satan, take pity on my long misery!
Staff of the exiles, lamp of inventors,
Confessor of the hanged and of conspirators,
Oh Satan, take pity on my long misery!
Adoptive father of those who, in his black anger,
God the Father chased from the earthly paradise,
Oh Satan, take pity on my long misery!
Prayer
Glory and praise to you, Satan, in the heights
Of Heaven, where you reigned, and in the depths
Of Hell, where, defeated, you dream in silence!
Make it so that my soul may one day, under the Tree of Knowledge,
Rest near to you, at that hour when upon your brow
Like a new Temple, its branches spread!