Charles Baudelaire

Mist and Rain

O ends of autumn, winters, springtimes drenched with mud, Seasons that lull to sleep! I love you, I praise you For enfolding my heart and mind thus In a misty shroud and a filmy tomb. On that vast plain where the cold south wind plays, Where in the long, dark nights the weather-cock grows hoarse, My soul spreads wide its raven wings More easily than in the warm springtide. Nothing is sweeter to a gloomy heart On which the hoar-frost has long been falling, Than the permanent aspect of your pale shadows, O wan seasons, queens of our clime - Unless it be to deaden suffering, side by side In a casual bed, on a moonless night. Translated by - William Aggeler Brumes et pluies o muddy Aprils, autumns, winters too! o drowsy seasons! love and praise to you I bring, for over heart and brain ye throw your misty shrouds and tombs to hide me so. vast plain, where Boreas mocks her brawling crew, hoarse weather-vanes which creak the whole night through, ye rouse me more than May, for now I go soaring on wider condor wings of woe. wan months of mist which in the north prevail, no boon so dear to souls whereon the snows forever fall, and shades of death enclose, as your unending twilight cold and pale, - unless, some moonless eve should find us, twain, creeping in beds of chance to lull our pain. Translated by - Lewis Piaget Shanks Mists and Rains O last of Autumn and Winter - steeped in haze, O sleepy seasons! you I love and praise, Because around my heart and brain you twine A misty winding-sheet and a nebulous shrine. On that great plain, where frigid blasts abound, Where through the nights, so long, the vane whirls round, My soul, more free than in the springtime soft, Will stretch her raven wings and soar aloft, Unto an heart with gloomy things replete, On which remain the frosts of former Times, O pallid seasons, mistress of our climes As your pale shadows - nothing is so sweet, Unless it be, on a moonless night a-twain, On some chance couch to soothe to sleep our Pain. Translated by - Cyril Scott Mists and Rains Springs of mud And winter Have my gratitude For wrapping my Heart's mind In their graves. It's foul weather That rips open My ruptured soul To the winds Nothing is sweeter Than a mournful, ruptured soul Rasping to try to endure The shadows that contrive To extinguish it Without offering One bedded promise of oblivion. Translated by - Will Schmitz Mists and Rains O ends of autumn, winters, springtimes deep in mud, Seasons of drowsiness, - my love and gratitude I give you, that have wrapped with mist my heart and brain As with a shroud, and shut them in a tomb of rain. In this wide land when coldly blows the bleak south-west And weathervanes at night grow hoarse on the house-crest, Better than in the time when green things bud and grow My mounting soul spreads wide its black wings of a crow. The heart filled up with gloom, and to the falling sleet Long since accustomed, finds no other thing more sweet - O dismal seasons, queens of our sad climate crowned - Than to remain always in your pale shadows drowned; (Unless it be, some dark night, kissing an unseen head, To rock one's pain to sleep upon a hazardous bed.) Translated by - Edna St. Vincent Millay Mist and Rain O Autumns, Winters, Springs! Seasons of mire! Soul-drowsing times! I love you. Take my praise For shrouding thus my heart and brain entire In a vague tomb and winding-sheet of haze. Through the long nights when the south-wester swings The rusty vanes that shriek upon the towers, My soul can fully stretch its raven wings More easily than in the warmer hours. Nothing is sweeter to funereal hearts On whom the frost of ages has been laid - Wan seasons, when you queen it round these parts, - Than the eternal sight of your pale shade: Unless on moonless midnights, pair by pair, To lull, upon chance beds, our hearts' despair. Translated by - Roy Campbell

Don't have an account?

You will be identified by the alias - name will be hidden