I walk the alleys trampled through the wheat,
Through whole blue summer eves, on velvet grass.
Dreaming, I feel the dampness at my feet;
The breezes bathe my naked head and pass.
I do not think a single thought, nor say
A word; but in my soul the mists upcurl
Of infinite love. I will go far away
With nature, happily, as with a girl.
À UNE MADONE. IMITATED FROM THE FRENCH
OF CHARLES BAUDELAIRE
Madone! my lady, I will build for thee
A grotto altar of my misery.
Deep will I scoop, where darkest lies my heart,
Far from the world's cupidity apart,
A niche, with mercy stained, and streaked with gold,
Where none thy statue's wonder may behold.
Then, for thy head, I will fashion a tiar,
A filigree of verse, with many a star
Of crystal rhyme its heavy folds upon.
And jealousy, O mortal! my Madone,
Shall cut for thee a gown, of dreadful guise,
Which like a portcullis, shall veil thy thighs;
Rude, heavy curtain, faced with bitter fears,
Broidered, in place of pearls, with all my tears.
And, of my worship, shoes will I design;
Two satin shoes, to case thy feet divine,