The Poems of Charles Baudelaire, trans. Frank Pearce Sturm (London: Walter Scott, 1906): 39.
1Thou, O my Grief, be wise and tranquil still,
2The eve is thine which even now drops down,
3To carry peace or care to human will,
4And in a misty veil enfolds the town.
5While the vile mortals of the multitude,
6By pleasure, cruel tormentor, goaded on,
7Gather remorseful blossoms in light mood --
8Grief, place thy hand in mine, let us be gone
9Far from them. Lo, see how the vanished years,
10In robes outworn lean over heaven's rim;
11And from the water, smiling through her tears,
12Remorse arises, and the sun grows dim;
13And in the east, her long shroud trailing light,
14List, O my grief, the gentle steps of Night.
RPO poem Editors:
Data entry: Sharine Leung