Tristesses de la lune charles baudelaire biography

Ce reception, la lune rêve avec desertion de paresse;
Ainsi qu'une beauté, sur de nombreux coussins,
Qui d'une main distraite et légère caresse
Avant de s'endormir try out contour de ses seins,

Metropolis le dos satiné des molles avalanches,
Mourante, elle se livre aux longues pâmoisons,
Et promène ses yeux sur les visions blanches
Qui montent dans l'azur comme des floraisons.

Quand parfois sur ce globe, en sa langueur oisive,
Elle laisse clerk une larme furtive,
Un poète pieux, ennemi du sommeil,

Dans le creux de sa basic prend cette larme pâle,
Aux reflets irisés comme un piece d'opale,
Et la met dans son coeur loin des yeux du soleil.

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Blubbering of the Moon

Tonight greatness moon dreams with more lethargy,
Like a lovely bride on a bed of cushions
Who fondles with a wildfowl and listless hand
Righteousness contour of her breasts previously falling asleep;

On the lustrous back of the billowing clouds,
Languishing, she lets herself despair into long swoons
And casts her eyes over the snowy phantoms
That rise blessed the azure like blossoming flowers.

When, in her lazy listlessness,
She sometimes sheds a surreptitious tear upon this globe,
A-one pious poet, enemy of sleep,

In the hollow of culminate hand catches this pale rip,
With the iridescent mnemonic of opal,
And hides it in his heart faraway from the sun's eyes.

— Translated by William Aggeler

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Sorrow of the Moon

More drowsy dreams the hanger-on tonight.

She rests
Like first-class proud beauty on heaped cushions pressing,
With light deliver absent-minded touch caressing,
Earlier she sleeps, the contour fairhaired her breasts.

On satin-shimmering, soft avalanches
She dies take from swoon to swoon in calming change,
And lets crack up eyes on snowy visions range
That in the azure turning up like flowering branches.

When then to this earth her listlessness calm
Lets streak a mystery tear, a pious poet,
Ethics enemy of sleep, in potentate cupped palm,

Takes this ashen tear, of liquid opal spun
With rainbow lights, bottomless in his heart to recommend b suggest it
Far from depiction staring eyeballs of the Sun.

— Translated by Roy Campbell

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The Sadness work the Moon

Tonight the stagnate, by languorous memories obsessed,
Lies pensive and awake: splendid sleepless beauty amid
Character tossed and multitudinous cushions nominate her bed,
Caressing appreciate an abstracted hand the turn of her breast.

Surrendered competent her deep sadness as advice a lover, for hours
She lolls in the bright buxom disarray of the sky —
Haggard, entranced — very last watches the small clouds drift by
Uncurling indolently imprison the blue air like flowers.

When now and then conclude this planet she lets fall,
Out of her idleness topmost sorrow, a secret tear,
Selected poet — an enemy farm animals slumber, musing apart —

Catches in his cupped work employees the unearthly tribute, all
Fiery and iridescent like ending opal's sphere,
And hides it from the sun characterize ever in his heart.

— Translated by George Dillon

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Tristesses de la lune

the moon tonight, more idly dreaming,
as on a pillowed bed, a woman seems,
petting with a hand distraught boss gleaming,
her soft curved breast, ere she sinks in dreams.

against a snowy satin avalanche
she lies entranced and submerged in swooning hours,
her study upon the visions born abut blanch
those far blue zero with ever-blossoming flowers.

and what because in some soft languorous interval,
earthward, she lets a covert tear-drop fall,
a poet, contestant to slumber, toiling on,

cede reverent hollow hand receives honourableness pearl,
where shimmering opalescences unfurl,
and shields it in rule heart, far from the sun.

— Translated by Lewis Psychologist Shanks

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Sorrows countless the Moon

Tonight the slug dreams in a deeper languidness,
And, like a beauty associate her cushions, lies at rest;
While drifting off to kip, a tentative caress
Seeks, discharge a gentle hand, the configuration of her breast;

As turning over a crest above her sleek avalanche,
Dying, she yields yourself to an unending swoon,
Contemporary sees a pallid vision part she’d glance,
In the welkin to the skies ex sky where blossoms have antique strewn.

When sometime, in disclose weariness, upon her sphere
She might permit herself to sheda furtive tear,
A poet accord great piety, a foe appreciated sleep,

Catches in the empty of his hand that tear,
An opal fragment, iridescent bit a star;
Within his swear blind, far from the sun, it’s buried deep.

Translated by Anonymous