Green leaves of evil-with apologies to my favorite poet

A Landscape

"I would, when I compose my solemn verse,

Sleep near the heaven as do astrologers,

Near the high bells, and with a dreaming mind

Hear their calm hymns blown upon the wind.

I'll watch the singing, babbling human bands;

And see the clock-towers like spars against the sky,

And heavens that bring thoughts of eternity;

And softly, through the mist, will watch the birth

Of stars in heaven and lamplight on the earth;

the threads of smoke that rise above the town;

The moon that pours her pale enchantment down.

Seasons will pass till Autumn fades the rose;

And when comes Winter with his weary snows,

I'll shut the doors and window-casements tight,

And build my faery palace in the night.

Then will I dream of blue horizons deep,

Of gardens where the marble fountains weep,

Of kisses, and of ever-singing birds--

A sinless Idyll built of innocent words.

And Trouble, knocking at my window-pane

And at my closet door, shall knock in vain;

I will not heed him with his stealthy tread,

Nor from my reverie uplift my head;

For I will plunge deep in the pleasure still

Of summoning the spring-time with my will,

Drawing the sun out of my heart, and there

With burning thougts making a summer air."

-Baudelaire, translation by F.P. Sturm in The Flowers of Evil, edited by Marthiel and Jackson Mathews (New York: New Directions, 1955 ed), 75-77