Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, LANDSCAPE, by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE



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First Line: I want, the more chastely to compose my verse
Last Line: Drawing from my burning thoughts an atmosphere of balm.


I want, the more chastely to compose my verse,
To sleep close to the sky, like the astrologers,
And, neighbor of steeples, as I dream, to attend
To their grave anthems carried away by the wind.
Chin in hands, from the height of my garret I'll discern
The workshop that sings and that gossips in turn,
The pipe-stacks, the steeples, those masts of the city,
And the great skies that foster dreams of eternity.

It is sweet, through the mists, to see begin to glow
The star in azure dark, the lamp at the window,
The rivers of coal-smoke ascending to the height
And the moon with enchantment spending her pale light.
I shall witness the Springs, the Summers, the Falls;
And when Winter comes with monotonous snowfalls
I shall close all around me shutters and lattices
To build into the night my fairy palaces.

Then I'll dream of horizons the blue of heaven controls,
Of gardens, fountains weeping in alabaster bowls,
Of kisses, of birds singing morning and eve,
And of all that's most childlike the Idyll has to give.
The tumult at my window vainly raging grotesque
Shall not cause me to lift my forehead from my desk;
For I shall be absorbed in that exquisitely still
Delight of evoking the Spring with my will,
Of wresting a sun from my own heart and in calm
Drawing from my burning thoughts an atmosphere of balm.





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