One of my favorites by Baudelaire.

A heart like mine will not be satisfied
With those vignette-style lovelies, weatherworn-
Fingers in castanets, feel tightly tied
In buskin-boots-of worthless century born.

I leave to Gavarni's anemic brush
His cooing flock of hospice belles- wan, weak:
I find among those roses' pallid blush
No bloom to match that red ideal I seek.

My chasm-heart needs Aeschylus to strew
Its unplumbed depths with ancient dream; like you,
Lady Macbeth, soul of foul crime impassioned;

Or you, Night- child of Michelangelo's
Begetting- who, in calm, eccentric pose,
Writhe with those charms for Titans' mouths once fashioned.

Translated by Norman R. Shapiro

Tags: Baudelaire, Charles, Ideal, The, poems, poetry

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Replies to This Discussion

I don't think I've ever read this one before. If I have, I've forgotten about it. My favorites of his are "The Vampire", "The Self-Tormentor", and "Litanies of Satan", though I find Baudelaire the man more interesting than Baudelaire the poet.

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