Beauty [I am lovely, O mortals, like a dream of stone]

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Title:     Beauty [I am lovely, O mortals, like a dream of stone]
Author: Charles Baudelaire [More Titles by Baudelaire]

Translator: Cyril Scott

I am lovely, O mortals, like a dream of stone,
And my bosom, where each one gets bruised in turn,
To inspire the love of a poet is prone,
Like matter eternally silent and stern.

As an unfathomed sphinx, enthroned by the Nile,
My heart a swan's whiteness with granite combines,
And I hate every movement, displacing the lines,
And never I weep and never I smile.

The poets in front of mine attitudes fine
(Which the proudest of monuments seem to implant),
To studies profound all their moments assign,

For I have all these docile swains to enchant--
Two mirrors, which Beauty in all things ignite:
Mine eyes, my large eyes, of eternal Light!

[The end]
Charles Baudelaire's poem: Beauty

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