Harmonic Du Soir
Voici venir le
Now is the hour when, swinging in the breeze,
Each flower, like a censer, sheds its sweet.
The air is full of scents and melodies,
O languorous waltz !
O swoon of dancing feet!
Each flower, like a censer, sheds its sweet,
The violins are like sad souls that cry,
O languorous waltz !
O swoon of dancing feet!
A shrine of Death and Beauty is the sky.
The violins are like sad souls that cry,
Poor souls that hate the vast. black night of Death ;
A shrine of Death and Beauty is the sky.
Drowned in red blood, the Sun gives up his breath.
This soul that hates the vast black night of
Takes all the luminous past back tenderly,
Drowned in red blood, the Sun gives up his breath.
Thine image like a monstrance shines in me.
Taken from the French of Baudelaire
Lord Alfred Douglas
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Plainte Eternelle
The sun sinks down, the tremulous daylight dies (Down their long shafts the weary sunbeams glide )The white-winged ships drift with the falling tide, Come back, my love, with pity in your eyes
Not All The Singers Of A Thousand Years
Not all the singers of a thousand years Can open English prisons No Though hell Opened for Tracian Orpheus, now the spell Of song and art is powerless as the tears That love has shed You that were full of fears,
To L —
Thou that wast once my loved and loving friend, A friend no more, I had forgot thee quite, Why hast thou come to trouble my
Le Balcon
Mere des souvenirs, mattresses des Mother of Memories O mistress-queen Oh
