OBSESSION

From ImmortalPoetry
Jump to navigationJump to search

by Charles Baudelaire, translated to English by John Collings Squire

Great woods! like mighty fanes you frighten me,
You howl like the organ; in our cursed souls,
Grey grief-chambers where old death-rattles be,
Your many-echoing “De profundis” rolls.

I hate thee, Ocean! for my spirit is torn
With tumults like thine own; a laugh has birth,
Like a beaten man’s, full of all tears and scorn
And bitterness, within the sea’s vast mirth.

Ah! how I love thee, Night, when not a star
Speaks with known tongue of light through the dark air;
For lo! I seek the void, the black, the bare;

Yet even darkest depths but curtains are
Where live, shot from my eye, innumerable
Lost forms and faces that I know too well.

 
Blossoms of Evil (1857)
by Charles Baudelaire - Translated by John Collings Squire

Add your comment
ImmortalPoetry welcomes all comments. If you do not want to be anonymous, register or log in. It is free.