Landscape by Charles Baudelaire

I would, to compose my eclogues chastely, Lie down close to the sky like an astrologer, And, near the church towers, listen while I dream To their solemn anthems borne to me by the wind. My chin cupped in both hands, high up in my garret I shall see the workshops where they chatter and sing, The chimneys, the belfries, those masts of the city, And the skies that make one dream of eternity. It is sweet, through the mist, to see the stars Appear in the heavens, the lamps in the windows, The streams of smoke rise in the firmament And the moon spread out her pale enchantment. I shall see the springtimes, the summers, the autumns; And when winter comes with its monotonous snow, I shall close all the shutters and draw all the drapes So I can build at night my fairy palaces. Then I shall dream of pale blue horizons, gardens, Fountains weeping into alabaster basins, Of kisses, of birds singing morning and evening, And of all that is most childlike in the Idyl. Riot, storming vainly at my window, Will not make me raise my head from my desk, For I shall be plunged in the voluptuousness Of evoking the Springtime with my will alone, Of drawing forth a sun from my heart, and making Of my burning thoughts a warm atmosphere. — William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954) Twitter：@camelliayang Instagram：@camelliayang Clubhouse: @camelliayang Website: https://www.camelliayang.com/ 

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