The Sick Muse

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

My poor muse, alas! what ails you this morning?
Your hollow eyes are peopled with nocturnal visions,
And I see reflected in turn upon your complexion
Madness and horror, cold and taciturn.

The greenish succubus and the pink goblin —
Have they poured fear and love from their urns?
The nightmare, with a despotic and rebellious fist,
Has it drowned you in the depths of a fabulous Minturnae?

I wish that, exhaling the odor of health,
Your breast were always visited by strong thoughts,
And that your Christian blood flowed in rhythmic waves,

Like the numerous sounds of ancient syllables,
Where reign in turn the father of songs,
Phoebus, and great Pan, the lord of harvests.

Charles Baudelaire

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