by: Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867)
- he Demon, in my lofty vault,
- This morning came to visit me,
- And striving me to find at fault,
- He said, "Fain would I know of thee;
- "Among the many beauteous things,
- All which her subtle grace proclaim
- Among the dark and rosy things,
- Which go to make her charming frame,
- "Which is the sweetest unto thee"?
- My soul! to Him thou didst retort
- "Since all with her is destiny,
- Of preference there can be nought.
- When all transports me with delight,
- If aught deludes I can not know,
- She either lulls one like the Night,
- Or dazzles like the Morning-glow.
- That harmony is too divine,
- Which governs all her body fair,
- For powerless mortals to define
- In notes the many concords there.
- O mystic metamorphosis
- Of all my senses blent in one!
- Her voice a beauteous perfume is,
- Her breath makes music, chaste and wan.
MORE POEMS BY CHARLES BAUDELAIRE
|"All Entire" is reprinted from The Flowers of Evil. Charles Baudelaire. London: Elkin Mathews, 1909.