les fleurs du mal

August 11, 2007 at 1:11 pm (Caledon, the Muse sings, the writing of others)

Here in my fey grove, the trees sway in the soft breeze, singing Baudelaire’s old poems of wicked flowers:

… hidden in the gloom, the sun pours down
on us a daylight dingier than the dark.
(Spleen (Quand le ciel bas et lourd))

Tears are an advantage to the face,
as streams enhance the meadow’s mystery
and rains refresh the rose.
(Madrigal Triste)

… forgotten by the world,
and whose fierce moods sing only to the rays of the setting suns.
(Spleen (J’ai plus de souvenirs))

we shall have richly scented beds, couches deep as graves
and rare flowers on the shelves will bloom for us beneath a lovelier sky
(La Mort des amants)

It was Baron Grayson who grew these flowers, these relics, into trees, fed them on such sweet sorrow. I taught them to continue their sad lovely songs; now they bloom here as richly as they did in his own garden. Some day I hope to grow something for him, to return in thanks.

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