This evening the Moon dreams more languidly,
Like a beauty who on mounded cushions rests,
And with her light hand fondles lingeringly,
Before she sleeps, the slope of her sweet breasts.
On her soft satined avalanches' height
Dying, she laps herself for hours and hours
In long, long swoons, and gazes at the white
Visions which rise athwart the blue like flowers.
When sometimes in her perfect indolence
She lets a furtive tear steal gently thence,
Some pious poet, a lone, sleepless one,
Takes in his hollowed hand this gem, shot through,
Like an opal stone, with gleams of every hue,
And in his heart's depths hides it from the sun.
The Sadness Of The Moon - (twelve Translations From Charles Baudelaire)
John Collings Squire, Sir
(1)
Poem topics: beauty, heart, light, moon, perfect, sometimes, sun, evening, blue, sweet, white, rise, tear, soft, poet, stone, gently, long, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
Submit Spanish Translation
Submit German Translation
Submit French Translation
Write your comment about The Sadness Of The Moon - (twelve Translations From Charles Baudelaire) poem by John Collings Squire, Sir
Best Poems of John Collings Squire, Sir