"Blessed be thou, my God, that givest sorrow, "Sole remedy divine for things unclean, "Whence souls robust a healing virtue borrow, "That tempers them for sacred joys serene! "I know thou hast ordained in blissful regions "A place, a welcome in the festal bowers, "To call the poet with thy holy Legions, "Thrones, Dominations, Princedoms, Virtues, Powers. "I know that Sorrow is the strength of Heaven, "'Gainst which in vain strive ravenous Earth and Hell, "And that his crown must be of mysteries woven "Whereof all worlds and ages hold the spell. "But not antique Palmyra's buried treasure, "Pearls of the sea, rare metal, precious gem, "Though set by thine own hand could fill the measure "Of beauty for his radiant diadem; "For this thy light alone, intense and tender, "Flows from the primal source of effluence pure, "Whereof all mortal eyes, though bright their splendour, "Are but the broken glass and glimpse obscure." SPLEEN ET IDEAL. ILL LUCK To bear so vast a load of grief Thy courage, Sisyphus, I crave! My heart against the task is brave, But Art is long and Time is brief. For from Fame's proud sepulchral arches, Towards a graveyard lone and dumb, My sad heart, like a muffled drum, Goes beating slow funereal marches. --Full many a shrouded jewel sleeps In dark oblivion, lost in deeps Unknown to pick or plummet's sound: Full many a weeping blossom flings Her perfume, sweet as secret things, In silent solitudes profound. LE GUIGNON. BEAUTY My face is a marmoreal dream, O mortals! And on my breast all men are bruised in turn, So moulded that the poet's love may burn Mute and eternal as the earth's cold portals. Throned like a Sphinx unveiled in the blue deep, A heart of snow my swan-white beauty muffles; I hate the line that undulates and ruffles: And never do I laugh and never weep. The poets, prone beneath my presence towering With stately port of proudest obelisks, Worship with rites austere, their days devouring; For I have charms to keep their love, pure disks That make all things more beautiful and tender: My large eyes, radiant with eternal splendour! LA BEAUTÉ. IDEAL LOVE No, never can these frail ephemeral creatures, The withered offspring of a worthless age, These buskined limbs, these false and painted features, The hunger of a heart like mine assuage. Leave to the laureate of sickly posies Gavami's hospital sylphs, a simpering choir! Vainly I seek among those pallid roses One blossom that allures my red desire.