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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=354486" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>L'Idéal (The Ideal)</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ce ne seront jamais ces beautés de vignettes,<br>Produits avariés, nés d'un siècle vaurien,<br>Ces pieds à brodequins, ces doigts à castagnettes,<br>Qui sauront satisfaire un coeur comme le mien.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Je laisse à Gavarni, poète des chloroses,<br>Son troupeau gazouillant de beautés d'hôpital,<br>Car je ne puis trouver parmi ces pâles roses<br>Une fleur qui ressemble à mon rouge idéal.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ce qu'il faut à ce coeur profond comme un abîme,<br>C'est vous, Lady Macbeth, âme puissante au crime,<br>Rêve d'Eschyle éclos au climat des autans;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ou bien toi, grande Nuit, fille de Michel-Ange,<br>Qui tors paisiblement dans une pose étrange<br>Tes appas façonnés aux bouches des Titans!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Ideal</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It will never be the beauties that vignettes show, Those damaged products of a good-for-nothing age, <br>Their feet shod with high shoes, hands holding castanets, <br>Who can ever satisfy any heart like mine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I leave to Gavarni, poet of chlorosis, <br>His prattling troop of consumptive beauties, <br>For I cannot find among those pale roses <br>A flower that is like my red ideal.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The real need of my heart, profound as an abyss, <br>Is you, Lady Macbeth, soul so potent in crime, <br>The dream of Aeschylus, born in the land of storms;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Or you, great Night, daughter of Michelangelo, <br>Who calmly contort, reclining in a strange pose <br>Your charms molded by the mouths of Titans!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>— Translated by William Aggeler</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Ideal </div><div style="margin:10px 0">It's not with smirking beauties of vignettes, <br>The shopsoiled products of a worthless age, <br>With buskined feet and hands for castanets — <br>A heart like mine its longing could assuage.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I leave Gavarni, poet of chloroses, <br>His twittering flock, anaemic and unreal. <br>I could not find among such bloodless roses, <br>A flower to match my crimson-hued ideal.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">To this heart deeper than the deepest canyon,<br>Lady Macbeth would be a fit companion,<br>Crime-puissant dream of Aeschylus; or you,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Daughter of Buonarroti, stately Night!<br>Whose charms to suit a Titan's appetite,<br>You twist, so strange, yet peaceful, to the view.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>— Translated by Roy Campbell</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Ideal</div><div style="margin:10px 0">No beauties such as figure in vignettes, <br>Monsters of a vain era's lame design, <br>With feet for buskins, hands for castanets, <br>Can ever satisfy a heart like mine. <br>I leave to Gavarni's chlorotic Muse <br>These sickly prattling nymphs, however real; <br>Not one of these pale roses would I choose <br>To match the flowers of my red ideal.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What my heart, deep as an abyss, demands, <br>Lady Macbeth, is your brave bloody hands, <br>And, Aeschylus, your dreams of rage and fright, <br>Or you, vast Night, daughter of Angelo's, <br>Who peacefully twist into a strange pose <br>Charms fashioned for a Titan's mouth to bite.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>— Translated by Jacques LeClercq</div><div style="margin:10px 0">L'Idéal</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'twill be no lovely girls of our vignettes<br>— spoiled fruits our worthless epoch deems divine —<br>slim slippered feet, hands made for castagnettes,<br>that shall content this questing heart of mine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I leave to great Gavarni, bard of blight,<br>his prattling beauties with their frail appeal.<br>I cannot find among his roses white<br>the flaming flower of my red ideal.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I crave, to fill my heart's abyss of death,<br>thy passion, fair and merciless Macbeth, <br>whom Aeschylus might not have dreamed in boreal snows;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">or thine, great Night, in Bunarroti's South,<br>tranquilly turning in a monstrous pose<br>thy bosom fashioned by a Titan's mouth!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>— Translated by Lewis Piaget Shanks</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=354486" data-title="L'Idéal (The Ideal) de Charles Baudelaire" data-description="Ce ne seront jamais ces beautés de vignettes,
Produits avariés, nés d'un siècle vaurien,
Ces pieds à brodequins, ces doigts à castagnettes,
Qui sauront satisfaire un coeur comme le mien.

Je laisse à Gavarni, poète des chloroses,
Son troup..."></div>
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