Blog Poetry

Elevation By Charles Pierre Baudelaire

Above the ponds, beyond the valleys,

The woods, the mountains, the clouds, the seas,

Farther than the sun, the distant breeze,

The spheres that wilt to infinity

My spirit, you move with agility

And, like a good swimmer who swoons in the wave

You groove the depths immensity gave,

The inexpressible and male ecstasy.

From this miasma of waste,

You will be purified in superior air

And drink a pure and divine liqueur,

A clear fire to replace the limpid space

Behind this boredom and fatigue, this vast chagrin

Whose weight moves the mists of existence,

Happy is he who vigorously fans the senses

Toward serene and luminous fields—wincing!

The one whose thoughts are like skylarks taken wing

Across the heavens mornings in full flight

—Who hovers over life, understanding without effort

The language of flowers and mute things.

Translated by William A. Sigler

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