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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=354449" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>La Cloche fêlée (The Cracked Bell)</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">II est amer et doux, pendant les nuits d'hiver,<br>D'écouter, près du feu qui palpite et qui fume,<br>Les souvenirs lointains lentement s'élever<br>Au bruit des carillons qui chantent dans la brume.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Bienheureuse la cloche au gosier vigoureux<br>Qui, malgré sa vieillesse, alerte et bien portante,<br>Jette fidèlement son cri religieux,<br>Ainsi qu'un vieux soldat qui veille sous la tente!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Moi, mon âme est fêlée, et lorsqu'en ses ennuis<br>Elle veut de ses chants peupler l'air froid des nuits,<br>II arrive souvent que sa voix affaiblie</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Semble le râle épais d'un blessé qu'on oublie<br>Au bord d'un lac de sang, sous un grand tas de morts<br>Et qui meurt, sans bouger, dans d'immenses efforts.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Flawed Bell</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It is bitter and sweet on winter nights <br>To listen by the fire that smokes and palpitates, <br>To distant souvenirs that rise up slowly <br>At the sound of the chimes that sing in the fog.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Happy is the bell which in spite of age<br>Is vigilant and healthy, and with lusty throat<br>Faithfully sounds its religious call,<br>Like an old soldier watching from his tent!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I, my soul is flawed, and when, a prey to ennui,<br>She wishes to fill the cold night air with her songs,<br>It often happens that her weakened voice</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Resembles the death rattle of a wounded man, <br>Forgotten beneath a heap of dead, by a lake of blood, <br>Who dies without moving, striving desperately.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>— Translated by William Aggeler</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Cracked Bell </div><div style="margin:10px 0">It's sweet and bitter, of a winter night, <br>To hear, beside the crackling, smoking log, <br>Far memories prepare themselves for flight <br>To carillons that sound amid the fog.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Happy's the bell whose vigorous throat on high, <br>in spite of time, is sound and still unspent, <br>To hurl his faithful and religious cry <br>Like an old soldier watching in his tent.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My soul is cracked, and when amidst its care <br>It tries with song to fill the frosty air, <br>Sometimes, its voice seems like the feeble croak</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A wounded soldier makes, lost in the smoke, <br>Beneath a pile of dead, in bloody mire, <br>Trying, with fearful efforts, to expire.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>— Translated by Roy Campbell</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Cracked Bell</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Bitter and sweet it is on these long winter nights <br>To sit before the fire and watch the smoking log <br>Beat like a heart; and hear our lost, our mute delights <br>Call with the carillons that ring out in the fog.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What certitude, what health, sounds from that brazen throat, <br>In spite of age and rust, alert! O happy bell, <br>Sending into the dark your clear religious note, <br>Like an old soldier crying through the night, 'All's well!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I am not thus; my soul is cracked across by care;<br>Its voice, that once could clang upon this icy air,<br>Has lost the power, it seems, — comes faintly forth, instead,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">As from the rattling throat of a hurt man who lies <br>Beside a lake of blood, under a heap of dead, <br>And cannot stir, and in prodigious struggling dies.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>— Translated by Edna St. Vincent Millay</div><div style="margin:10px 0">La Cloche fêlée</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'tis bitter joy, as winter evenings wear<br>before a smoking hearth which flames aghast,<br>to hear slow memories mounting from the past,<br>while church-bells pierce the pall of misty air.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">blessèd the flawless bell, of metal rare,<br>the full-toned bourdon, void of rift and rust,<br>which like a guardsman faithful to his trust<br>hurls forth unfailingly its call to prayer!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">my soul's a riven bell, that timidly<br>would fill the frozen night with melody,<br>but oft it falters, whisperingly weak</div><div style="margin:10px 0">as, echoing over lakes of blood, a shriek<br>muffled by mounds of dead, from one who lies<br>moveless as they, though struggling till he dies.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>— Translated by Lewis Piaget Shanks</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Cracked Bell</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It is bitter and sweet, during winter nights,<br>To listen, beside the throbbing, smoking fife, <br>To distant memories slowly ascending <br>In the sound of the chimes chanting through the fog.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Blessed the bell with the vigorous gullet<br>Which, despite old age, watchful and healthy,<br>Throws out faithfully its pious tones,<br>Like an old soldier in vigil under his tent!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah, my soul is cracked, and when in sorrows<br>It wishes to people the cold air of the night with its songs,<br>Often it happens that its feeble voice</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Seems like the thick death-rattle of one wounded, forgotten <br>By the side of a lake of blood, under a great weight of dead, <br>Who dies, without moving, amongst enormous efforts.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>— Translated by Geoffrey Wagner</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Charles+Baudelaire">Charles Baudelaire</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=354449" data-title="La Cloche fêlée (The Cracked Bell) de Charles Baudelaire" data-description="II est amer et doux, pendant les nuits d'hiver,
D'écouter, près du feu qui palpite et qui fume,
Les souvenirs lointains lentement s'élever
Au bruit des carillons qui chantent dans la brume.

Bienheureuse la cloche au gosier vigoureux
Qui, malgr..."></div>
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