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Charles Baudelaire - Le Guignon (Ill-Starred)
Work rating: Low

Pour soulever un poids si lourd,
Sisyphe, il faudrait ton courage!
Bien qu`on ait du coeur à l`ouvrage,
L`Art est long et le Temps est court.

Loin des sépultures célèbres,
Vers un cimetière isolé,
Mon coeur, comme un tambour voilé,
Va battant des marches funèbres.

— Maint joyau dort enseveli
Dans les ténèbres et l`oubli,
Bien loin des pioches et des sondes;

Mainte fleur épanche à regret
Son parfum doux comme un secret 
Dans les solitudes profondes.


Evil Fate

To lift a weight so heavy, 
Would take your courage, Sisyphus!
Although one`s heart is in the work, 
Art is long and Time is short.

Far from famous sepulchers 
Toward a lonely cemetery 
My heart, like muffled drums, 
Goes beating funeral marches.

Many a jewel lies buried 
In darkness and oblivion, 
Far, far away from picks and drills;

Many a flower regretfully 
Exhales perfume soft as secrets 
In a profound solitude.


— Translated by William Aggeler



Ill Luck 

So huge a burden to support 
Your courage, Sisyphus, would ask; 
Well though my heart attacks its task, 
Yet Art is long and Time is short.

Far from the famed memorial arch 
Towards a lonely grave I come. 
My heart in its funereal march 
Goes beating like a muffled drum.

— Yet many a gem lies hidden still 
Of whom no pick-axe, spade, or drill 
The lonely secrecy invades;

And many a flower, to heal regret, 
Pours forth its fragrant secret yet 
Amidst the solitary shades.


— Translated by Roy Campbell



Ill-Starred

A man would needs be brave and strong
As Sisyphus, for such a task! 
It is not greater zeal I ask — 
But life is brief, and art is long.

To a forsaken mound of clay 
Where no admirers ever come, 
My heart, like an invisible drum, 
Goes beating a dead march all day.

Many a jewel of untold worth 
Lies slumbering at the core of earth, 
In darkness and oblivion drowned;

Many a flower has bloomed and spent 
The secret of its passionate scent 
Upon the wilderness profound.


— Translated by George Dillon



Ill-Starred

To bear a weight that cannot be borne, 
Sisyphus, even you aren`t that strong, 
Although your heart cannot be torn 
Time is short and Art is long. 
Far from celebrated sepulchers 
Toward a solitary graveyard 
My heart, like a drum muffled hard 
Beats a funeral march for the ill-starred. 

—Many jewels are buried or shrouded 
In darkness and oblivion`s clouds, 
Far from any pick or drill bit, 

Many a flower unburdens with regret 
Its perfume sweet like a secret; 
In profoundly empty solitude to sit. 


Translated by William A. Sigler
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