Charles Baudelaire

I Have Not Forgotten Our White Cottage

I have not forgotten our white cottage, Small but peaceful, near the city, Its plaster Pomona, its old Venus, Hiding their bare limbs in a stunted grove. In the evening streamed down the radiant sun, That great eye which stares from the inquisitive sky. From behind the window that scattered its bright rays It seemed to gaze upon our long, quiet dinners, Spreading wide its candle-like reflections On the frugal table-cloth and the serge curtains. Translated by - William Aggeler A Memory All this was long ago, but I do not forget Our small white house, between the city and the farms; The Venus, the Pomona, - l remember yet How in the leaves they hid their chipping plaster charms; And the majestic sun at evening, setting late, Behind the pane that broke and scattered his bright rays, How like an open eye he seemed to contemplate Our long and silent dinners with a curious gaze: The while his golden beams, like tapers burning there, Made splendid the serge curtains and the simple fare. Translated by - Edna St. Vincent Millay Neighbouring on the City, I Recall Neighbouring on the city, I recall Our snow-white house, so full of peace and small: The casts of Venus and Pomona too Whose limbs a tiny thicket hid from view. The sun at eve, cascading fire and gold, Behind the glass, his sheaf of rays unrolled, Then, like an eye, inquisitively seemed To watch our long, hushed dinners as we dreamed; Like candle-flames his glories, as they poured, Lit our serge curtains and our simple board. Translated by - Roy Campbell

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