To a Madonna

Poem by Charles Baudelaire Collection The Flowers of EvilThemes LovePeriod 19th century

Ex-voto in the Spanish style

I want to build for you, Madonna, my mistress,
A subterranean altar in the depths of my distress,
And to carve in the darkest corner of my heart,
Far from worldly desire and from the mocking gaze,
A niche, all enameled with azure and gold,
Where you will stand, a Statue of wonder.
With my polished Verses, a trellis of pure metal
Skillfully studded with crystal rhymes,
I will make for your head an enormous Crown;
And in my jealousy, O mortal Madonna,
I will know how to cut you a Cloak, in a manner
Barbaric, stiff and heavy, and lined with suspicion,
Which, like a sentry box, will enclose your charms;
Not embroidered with Pearls, but with all my Tears!
Your Dress, it will be my Desire, quivering,
Undulant, my Desire that rises and descends,
On peaks sways, in valleys rests,
And clothes with a kiss all your body white and pink.
I will make of my Respect beautiful Shoes
Of satin, humiliated by your divine feet,
Which, imprisoning them in a soft embrace,
Like a faithful mold will keep their imprint.
If I cannot, despite all my diligent art,
Carve for a Footstool a silver Moon,
I will place the Serpent that gnaws my entrails
Under your heels, so that you may trample and mock,
Queen victorious and fertile in ransoms,
This monster all swollen with hatred and spit.
You will see my Thoughts, ranged like Candles
Before the flowered altar of the Queen of Virgins,
Starring with reflections the ceiling painted blue,
Gazing at you always with eyes of fire;
And since everything in me cherishes and admires you,
Everything will become Benzoin, Incense, Olibanum, Myrrh,
And ceaselessly toward you, white and snowy summit,
In Vapors my stormy Spirit will rise.

Finally, to complete your role as Mary,
And to mingle love with barbarity,
Black voluptuousness! of the seven deadly Sins,
Executioner full of remorse, I will make seven Knives
Well sharpened, and, like an unfeeling juggler,
Taking the deepest part of your love as target,
I will plant them all in your panting Heart,
In your sobbing Heart, in your streaming Heart!

Charles Baudelaire

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