Oft Music, as it were some moving mighty sea,
Bears me towards my pale
Star: in clear space, or 'neath a vaporous canopy
On-floating, I set sail.
With heaving chest which strains forward, and lungs outblown,
I climb the ridgë"d steeps
Of those high-pilë"d clouds which 'thwart the night are thrown,
Veiling its starry deeps.
I suffer all the throes, within my quivering form,
Of a great ship in pain,
Now a soft wind, and now the writhings of a storm
Upon the vasty main
Rock me: at other times a death-like calm, the bare
Mirror of my despair.
Music - (twelve Translations From Charles Baudelaire)
John Collings Squire, Sir
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Poem topics: death, despair, mirror, music, night, pain, sea, space, star, wind, great, clear, chest, storm, high, soft, thrown, main, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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