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Tell me, does your heart sometimes fly away, Agatha,
Far from the black ocean of the filthy city,
Toward another ocean where splendor bursts forth,
Blue, clear, deep, like virginity?
Tell me, does your heart sometimes fly away, Agatha?
The sea, the vast sea, consoles our labors!
What demon endowed the sea, that raucous singer
Accompanied by the immense organ of the grumbling winds,
With that sublime function of lullaby?
The sea, the vast sea, consoles our labors!
Carry me away, wagon! lift me, frigate!
Far! far! here the mud is made of our tears!
– Is it true that sometimes poor Agatha’s heart
Says: Far from remorse, crimes, and sorrows,
Carry me away, wagon, lift me, frigate?
How far you are, perfumed paradise,
Where under clear azure all is only love and joy,
Where everything one loves is worthy of being loved,
Where in pure voluptuousness the heart drowns!
How far you are, perfumed paradise!
But the green paradise of childhood loves,
The races, the songs, the kisses, the bouquets,
The violins vibrating behind the hills,
With the jugs of wine, at evening, in the groves,
– But the green paradise of childhood loves,
The innocent paradise, full of furtive pleasures,
Is it already farther than India and China?
Can one call it back with plaintive cries,
And animate it still with a silvery voice,
The innocent paradise full of furtive pleasures?
Charles Baudelaire
Translation generated by Poésies 123 with assistance from the deepseek-chat artificial-intelligence model.
Text published on Poésies 123: https://www.poesies123.com/en/poem-moesta-et-errabunda-charles-baudelaire/