Identifier: charlesbaudelair00gaut (find matches)
Title: Charles Baudelaire : his life
Year: 1915 (1910s)
Authors: Gautier, Théophile, 1811-1872 Baudelaire, Charles, 1821-1867. Poems. English. Selections Baudelaire, Charles, 1821-1867. Petis poëmes en prose. English Baudelaire, Charles, 1821-1867. Correspondence. English. Selections Thorne, Guy, 1876-1923. Some remarks on Baudelaire's influence upon modern poetry and thought
Subjects: Baudelaire, Charles, 1821-1867
Publisher: New York : Brentano's
Contributing Library: The Centre for 19th Century French Studies - University of Toronto
Digitizing Sponsor: University of Ottawa

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d, in garrisonat Strasbourg, who swam across the Rhine, wasretaken and shot for having listened too muchto the sound of the horn of the Alps. THÉOPHILE GAUTIER. February 20^, 1868. SELECTED POEMS OF CHARLES BAUDELAIRE DONE INTO ENGLISH VERSE BY GUY THORNE »s SELECTED POEMS OF CHARLES BAUDELAIRE DONE INTO ENGLISH VERSE BY GUY THORNE EXOTIC PERFUME (Parfum exotique) With eve and Autumn in mine eyes confest,I breathe an incense from thy heart of fire,And happy hill-sides tired men desireUnfold their glory in the weary West. 0 lazy Isle ! where each exotic treeIs hung with delicate fruits, and slender boysMingle with maidens in a dance of joysThat knows not shame, where all are young andfree. 06 96 CHARLES BAUDELAIRE Yes 1 thy most fragrant breasts have led me homeTo this thronged harbour ; and at last I knowWhy searching sailors venture on the foam. . . . —Tis that they may to Tamarisk Island go.For there old slumberous sea-chants fill the airLaden with spices, and the world is fair.
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CHARLES BAUDELAIRE 9? THE MURDERERS WINE (Le vin de lassassin) My wife is stifîened into wax. —Now I can drink my fill.Her yellings tore my heart like hooks, They were so keen and shrill.Tis a Kings freedom that I know Since that loud voice is still. The day is tender blue and gold, The sky is clear above . . .Just such a summer as we had When first I fell in love.. . . Im a King now ! Such royal thoughts Within me stir and move ! Ô8 CHARLES BAUDELAIRE I killed her ; but I could not slake My burning lava-waveOf hideous thirst—far worse than that Of some long-tortured slave—If I had wine enough to fill Her solitary, deep grave. In slime and dark her body lies ; It echoed as it fell.(I will remember this no more.) Her tomb no man can tell.I cast great blocks of stone on her, The curb-stones of the well. We swore a thousand oaths of love ; Absolved we cannot beNor ever reconciled, as when We both lived happily ;. . . ïwas evening on a darkling road When the mad thing met rae. CH

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