Read the poem: “Spleen”

by Charles Baudelaire

Extract of The Flowers of Evil

Download PDF

American Literature – American Poetry – Charles Baudelaire
< < < Sonnet XVIII
Sunset > > >

Spleen

I’m like some king in whose corrupted veins
Flows agèd blood; who rules a land of rains;
Who, young in years, is old in all distress;
Who flees good counsel to find weariness
Among his dogs and playthings, who is stirred
Neither by hunting-hound nor hunting-bird;
Whose weary face emotion moves no more
E’en when his people die before his door.
His favourite Jester’s most fantastic wile
Upon that sick, cruel face can raise no smile;
The courtly dames, to whom all kings are good,
Can lighten this young skeleton’s dull mood
No more with shameless toilets. In his gloom
Even his lilied bed becomes a tomb.
The sage who takes his gold essays in vain
To purge away the old corrupted strain,
His baths of blood, that in the days of old
The Romans used when their hot blood grew cold,
Will never warm this dead man’s bloodless pains,
For green Lethean water fills his veins.

Translated by F. P. Sturm

< < < Sonnet XVIII
Sunset > > >

American Literature – American Poetry – Charles Baudelaire

If you liked this article, subscribe , put likes, write comments!

Share on social networks

Check out Our Latest Posts

by Charles Baudelaire

Extract of The Flowers of Evil

Spleen

Leave a comment Cancel reply