among the lights of heaven
“Like to the star which in the autumn time
Rises and glows among the lights of heaven
With eminent lustre at the dead of night—
Orion’s Hound they call it—bright indeed,
And yet of baleful omen, for it brings
Distressing heat to miserable men.
So shone the brass upon the warrior’s breast
As on he flew.”
—Homer from The Illiad, 9th to 8th Century BC.
the star-sprayed milk-white sea
“Sweeter than the bite of sour apples to a child,
The green water seeped through my wooden hull,
Rinsed me of blue wine stains and vomit,
Broke apart grappling iron and rudder.
And then I bathed myself in the poetry
Of the star-sprayed milk-white sea,
Devouring the azure greens; where, pale
And ravished, a pensive drowned one sometimes floats; . . .”
—Arthur Rimbaud from The Drunken Boat.
New York as a spectacle
“Charles Baudelaire was a true Parisian, a poet of the city, a confimed city-dweller. . . . The New York skyline, with the tremendous Empire State building, with the sequined Chrysler tower silver in the sunlight, with the lights suddenly blazing like yellow sapphires in a million windows, above the outrageous, whirling, dining and conniving town—New York as a spectacle would have delighted him.”
—Edna St. Vincent Millay from her introduction to a translation of Charles Baudelaire’s Les Fleurs du Mal (Flowers of Evil), October 19, 1935.
Aurora
“Aurora now in a thin dress of green and rose,
With chattering teeth advanced. Old sombre Paris rose,
Picked up its tools, and, over the deserted Seine,
Yawning, rubbing its eyes, slouched forth to work again.”
—Charles Baudelaire (1821–1867), from Dawn, translated by Edna St. Vincent Millay, 1936.
a mystic crown
“‘I know that space and time, beyond the temporal grave,
Weave me a mystic crown, free from all earthly flaw.
Not emeralds, not all the pearls of the deep sea,
All the rare metals, every lost and buried gem
Antique Palmyra hides, could ever seem to me
So beautiful as that clear glittering diadem.
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Of Light, of Light alone, it will be fashioned, Light
Drawn from the holy fount, rays primitive and pure,
Whereof the eyes of mortal men, so starry bright,
Are but the mirrors, mirrors cloudy and obscure.’”
—Charles Baudelaire (1821–1867), from Benediction, translated by Edna St. Vincent Millay, 1936.
More beautiful than Venus
“More beautiful than Venus arising to the world
And scattering all round her the iridescent fire
Of her blond loveliness with rainbow hues impearled
Upon the old green ocean, her bedazzled sire;
More beautiful than Venus arising to the world!”
—Charles Baudelaire (1821–1867), from Lesbos, translated by George Dillon, 1936.
crystal petals
“The fountain leaps and flowers
In many roses,
On which the moonlight flares.
Their crystal petals, breaking,
Breaking forever,
Are changed to falling tears.”
—Charles Baudelaire (1821–1867), from The Fountain, as translated by George Dillon, 1936.
Enchanted rivers
“That marvellous landscape of my dream—
Which no eye knows, nor ever will—
At moments, wide awake, I seem
To grasp, and it excites me still. . . .
Blue sheets of water, left and right,
Spread between quays of rose and green,
To the world’s end and out of sight,
And still expanded, though unseen.
Enchanted rivers, those—with jade
And jasper were their banks bedecked;
Enormous mirrors, dazzled, made
Dizzy by all they did reflect.
And many a Ganges, taciturn
And heedless, in the vaulted air,
Poured out of the treasure of its urn
Into a gulf of diamond there.
As architect, it tempted me
To tame the ocean at its source;
And this I did,—I made the sea
Under a jewelled culvert course.
And every colour, even black,
Became prismatic, polished, bright;
The liquid gave its glory back
Mounted in iridescent light.”
—Charles Baudelaire (1821–1867), from his Parisian Dream, as translated by Edna St. Vincent Millay, 1936.
the green tables
“Round the green tables, faces without lips, the lips
Drained of all colour; clench of toothless jaws, unrest
Of hundreds of demonic fingers clutching the chips,
Searching the empty pocket or the pounding breast;”
—Charles Baudelaire (1821–1867), from The Gaming Room, as translated by George Dillon, 1936.
the Sea of Shadows
“We shall embark upon the Sea of Shadows, gay
As a young passenger on his first voyage out. . . .
What are those sweet, funereal voices? ‘Come this way,
All ye that are in trouble!—all ye that are in doubt!’ . . .
Pour us your poison wine that makes us feel like gods!
Our brains are burning up!—there’s nothing left to do
But plunge into the void!—hell? heaven? what’s the odds?
We’re bound for the Unknown, in search of something new!”
—Charles Baudelaire (1821–1867), from Travel, translated by Edna St. Vincent Millay, 1936.