THE FLOWERS OF EVIL by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH VERSE BY CYRIL SCOTT LONDON ELKIN MATHEWS, VIGO STREET M CM IX DEDICATED TO ARTHUR SYMONS CONTENTS Benediction Echoes The Sick Muse The Venal Muse The Evil Monk The Enemy Ill-Luck Interior Life Man and the Sea Beauty The Ideal The Giantess Hymn to Beauty Exotic Perfume La Chevelure Sonnet XXVIII Posthumous Remorse The Balcony The Possessed One Semper Eadem All Entire Sonnet XLIII The Living Torch The Spiritual Dawn Evening Harmony Overcast Sky Invitation to a Journey "Causerie" Autumn Song Sisina To a Creolean Lady Moesta et Errabunda The Ghost Autumn Song Sadness of the Moon-Goddess Cats Owls Music The Joyous Defunct The Broken Bell Spleen Obsession Magnetic Horror The Lid Bertha's Eyes The Set of the Romantic Sun Meditation To a Passer-by Illusionary Love Mists and Rains The Wine of Lovers Condemned Women The Death of the Lovers The Death of the Poor Benediction When by the changeless Power of a Supreme Decree The poet issues forth upon this sorry sphere, His mother, horrified, and full of blasphemy, Uplifts her voice to God, who takes compassion on her. "Ah, why did I not bear a serpent's nest entire, Instead of bringing forth this hideous Child of Doom! Oh cursèd be that transient night of vain desire When I conceived my expiation in my womb!" "Yet since among all women thou hast chosen me To be the degradation of my jaded mate, And since I cannot like a love-leaf wantonly Consign this stunted monster to the glowing grate," "I'll cause thine overwhelming hatred to rebound Upon the cursèd tool of thy most wicked spite. Forsooth, the branches of this wretched tree I'll wound And rob its pestilential blossoms of their might!" So thus, she giveth vent unto her foaming ire, And knowing not the changeless statutes of all times, Herself, amid the flames of hell, prepares the pyre; The consecrated penance of maternal crimes. Yet 'neath th' invisible shelter of an Angel's wing This sunlight-loving infant disinherited, Exhales from all he eats and drinks, and everything The ever sweet ambrosia and the nectar red. He trifles with the winds and with the clouds that glide, About the way unto the Cross, he loves to sing, The spirit on his pilgrimage; that faithful guide, Oft weeps to see him joyful like a bird of Spring. All those that he would cherish shrink from him with fear, And some that waxen bold by his tranquility, Endeavour hard some grievance from his heart to tear, And make on him the trial of their ferocity.