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Charles Baudelaire - Hymne à la Beauté (Hymn To Beauty)
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Viens-tu du ciel profond ou sors-tu de l`abîme,
O Beauté? ton regard, infernal et divin,
Verse confusément le bienfait et le crime,
Et l`on peut pour cela te comparer au vin.

Tu contiens dans ton oeil le couchant et l`aurore;
Tu répands des parfums comme un soir orageux;
Tes baisers sont un philtre et ta bouche une amphore
Qui font le héros lâche et l`enfant courageux.

Sors-tu du gouffre noir ou descends-tu des astres?
Le Destin charmé suit tes jupons comme un chien;
Tu sèmes au hasard la joie et les désastres,
Et tu gouvernes tout et ne réponds de rien.

Tu marches sur des morts, Beauté, dont tu te moques;
De tes bijoux l`Horreur n`est pas le moins charmant,
Et le Meurtre, parmi tes plus chères breloques,
Sur ton ventre orgueilleux danse amoureusement.

L`éphémère ébloui vole vers toi, chandelle,
Crépite, flambe et dit: Bénissons ce flambeau!
L`amoureux pantelant incliné sur sa belle
A l`air d`un moribond caressant son tombeau.

Que tu viennes du ciel ou de l`enfer, qu`importe,
Ô Beauté! monstre énorme, effrayant, ingénu!
Si ton oeil, ton souris, ton pied, m`ouvrent la porte
D`un Infini que j`aime et n`ai jamais connu?

De Satan ou de Dieu, qu`importe? Ange ou Sirène,
Qu`importe, si tu rends, — fée aux yeux de velours,
Rythme, parfum, lueur, ô mon unique reine! —
L`univers moins hideux et les instants moins lourds?



Hymn to Beauty

Do you come from Heaven or rise from the abyss, 
Beauty? Your gaze, divine and infernal, 
Pours out confusedly benevolence and crime, 
And one may for that, compare you to wine.

You contain in your eyes the sunset and the dawn; 
You scatter perfumes like a stormy night; 
Your kisses are a philtre, your mouth an amphora, 
Which make the hero weak and the child courageous.

Do you come from the stars or rise from the black pit? 
Destiny, bewitched, follows your skirts like a dog; 
You sow at random joy and disaster, 
And you govern all things but answer for nothing.

You walk upon corpses which you mock, O Beauty! 
Of your jewels Horror is not the least charming, 
And Murder, among your dearest trinkets, 
Dances amorously upon your proud belly.

The dazzled moth flies toward you, O candle!
Crepitates, flames and says: "Blessed be this flambeau!"
The panting lover bending o`er his fair one
Looks like a dying man caressing his own tomb,

Whether you come from heaven or from hell, who cares, 
O Beauty! Huge, fearful, ingenuous monster! 
If your regard, your smile, your foot, open for me 
An Infinite I love but have not ever known?

From God or Satan, who cares? Angel or Siren, 
Who cares, if you make, — fay with the velvet eyes, 
Rhythm, perfume, glimmer; my one and only queen! 
The world less hideous, the minutes less leaden?


— Translated by William Aggeler



Hymn to Beauty 

Did you spring out of heaven or the abyss, 
Beauty? Your gaze infernal, yet divine, 
Spreads infamy and glory, grief and bliss, 
And therefore you can be compared to wine.

Your eyes contain both sunset and aurora: 
You give off scents, like evenings storm-deflowered: 
Your kisses are a philtre: an amphora 
Your mouth, that cows the brave, and spurs the coward.

Climb you from gulfs, or from the stars descend? 
Fate, like a fawning hound, to heel you`ve brought; 
You scatter joy and ruin without end, 
Ruling all things, yet answering for naught.

You trample men to death, and mock their clamour. 
Amongst your gauds pale Horror gleams and glances, 
And Murder, not the least of them in glamour, 
On your proud belly amorously dances.

The dazzled insect seeks your candle-rays, 
Crackles, and burns, and seems to bless his doom. 
The groom bent o`er his bride as in a daze, 
Seems, like a dying man, to stroke his tomb.

What matter if from hell or heaven born, 
Tremendous monster, terrible to view? 
Your eyes and smile reveal to me, like morn, 
The Infinite I love but never knew.

From God or Fiend? Siren or Sylph ? Invidious 
The answer — Fay with eyes of velvet, ray, 
Rhythm, and perfume! — if you make less hideous 
Our universe, less tedious leave our day.


— Translated by Roy Campbell



Hymn to Beauty

Did you fall from high heaven or surge from the abyss, 
O Beauty? Your bright gaze, infernal and divine, 
Confusedly pours out courage and cowardice, 
Or love and crime. Therefore men liken you to wine.

Your eyes hold all the sunset and the dawn, you are 
As rich in fragrances as a tempestuous night, 
Your kisses are a philtre and your mouth a jar 
Filling the child with valor and the man with fright.

Did the stars mould you or the pit`s obscurity? 
You bring at random Paradise or Juggernaut. 
Fate sniffs your skirts with a charmed dog`s servility, 
You govern all and yet are answerable for naught.

Beauty, you walk on corpses of dead men you mock. 
Among your store of gems, Horror is not the least; 
Murder, amid the dearest trinkets of your stock, 
Dances on your proud belly like a ruttish beast.

Candle, the transient moth flies dazzled to your light, 
Crackles and flames and says: "Blessèd this fiery doom!" 
The panting lover with his mistress in the night 
Looks like a dying man caressing his own tomb.

Are you from heaven or hell, Beauty that we adore? 
Who cares? A dreadful, huge, ingenuous monster, you!
So but your glance, your smile, your foot open a door
Upon an Infinite I love but never knew.

From Satan or from God? Who cares? Fierce or serene,
Who cares? Sister to sirens or to seraphim?
So but, dark fey, you shed your perfume, rhythm and sheen
To make the world less hideous and Time less grim.


— Translated by Jacques LeClercq
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