Here comes the moment of the shimmering hour
When praise like incense trembles from each leaf.
The evening air is redolent with grief
And waltzes gush with melancholic power.
When praise like incense trembles from each leaf,
Only the notes of violins are sour
And waltzes gush with melancholic power;
The sky is vast with beauty and with grief.
Only the notes of violins are sour;
Each heart avoids its pit of unbelief.
The sky is vast with beauty and with grief;
The sun's blood hazes in a chilly shower.
Each heart avoids its pit of unbelief,
Gathering its flecks of light into a bower;
The sun's blood hazes in a chilly shower -
Only your shining image brings relief!
Amazing poem, amazing translation. [Forgive the adjective! ] I had never read Baudelaire before, and always had a rather negative impression of him. Where did you learn such word-music? This translation has brought Baudelaire to life. I have a gut-feeling that you have improved upon Baudelaire!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Martin is any instrument more haunting than the violin? The piece is breathtaking. Joyce