La Muse Malade (The Sick Muse)
Ma pauvre muse, hélas! qu'as-tu donc ce matin?
Tes yeux creux sont peuplés de visions nocturnes,
Et je vois tour à tour réfléchis sur ton teint
La folie et l'horreur, froides et taciturnes.
Le succube verdâtre et le rose lutin
T'ont-ils versé la peur et l'amour de leurs urnes?
Le cauchemar, d'un poing despotique et mutin
T'a-t-il noyée au fond d'un fabuleux Minturnes?
Je voudrais qu'exhalant l'odeur de la santé
Ton sein de pensers forts fût toujours fréquenté,
Et que ton sang chrétien coulât à flots rythmiques,
Comme les sons nombreux des syllabes antiques,
Où règnent tour à tour le père des chansons,
Phoebus, et le grand Pan, le seigneur des moissons.
The Sick Muse
My poor Muse, alas! what ails you today?
Your hollow eyes are full of nocturnal visions;
I see in turn reflected on your face
Horror and madness, cold and taciturn.
Have the green succubus, the rosy elf,
Poured out for you love and fear from their urns?
Has the hand of Nightmare, cruel and despotic,
Plunged you to the bottom of some weird Minturnae?
I would that your bosom, fragrant with health,
Were constantly the dwelling place of noble thoughts,
And that your Christian blood would flow in rhythmic waves
Like the measured sounds of ancient verse,
Over which reign in turn the father of all songs,
Phoebus, and the great Pan, lord of harvest.
— Translated by William Aggeler
The Sick Muse
Alas, poor Muse, what ails you so today?
Your hollow eyes with midnight visions burn,
And turn about, in your complexion play
Madness and horror, cold and taciturn.
Green succubus and rosy imp — have they
Poured you both fear and love into one glass?
Or with his tyrant fist the nightmare, say,
Submerged you in some fabulous morass?
I wish that, breathing health, your breast might nourish
Ever robuster thoughts therein to flourish:
And that your Christian blood, in rhythmic flow,
With those old polysyllables would chime,
Where, turn about, reigned Phoebus, sire of rhyme,
And Pan, the lord of harvests long ago.
— Translated by Roy Campbell
La Muse malade
poor Muse, alas! what ails thee now? for thy
great hollow eyes with sights nocturnal burn,
and in they changing pallor I descry
madness and frozen horror, turn by turn.
did rosy sprites or pale green succubi
pour love or panic from their dream-filled urn?
did the mad fist of despot nightmare try
to drown thee where the fiends of hell sojourn?
I would that thou wert always filled with health
and manly thoughts undaunted; that a wealth
of Christian blood were thine, which always flowed
in calm broad rhythms like a Grecian ode,
now echoing forth Apollo's golden strain,
and now great Pan, the lord of ripening grain.
— Translated by Lewis Piaget Shanks
The Sick Mused
My impoverished muse, alas! What have you for me this morning?
Your empty eyes are stocked with nocturnal visions,
In your cheek's cold and taciturn reflection,
I see insanity and horror forming.
The green succubus and the red urchin,
Have they poured you fear and love from their urns?
The nightmare of a mutinous fist that despotically turns,
Does it drown you at the bottom of a loch beyond searching?
I wish that your breast exhaled the scent of sanity,
That your womb of thought was not a tomb more frequently
And that your Christian blood flowed around a buoy that was rhythmical,
Like the numberless sounds of antique syllables,
Where reigns in turn the father of songs,
Phoebus, and the great Pan, the harvest sovereign.
Translated by William A. Sigler
poem by Charles Baudelaire
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The Sick Muse
My impoverished muse, alas! What have you for me this morning?
Your empty eyes are stocked with nocturnal visions,
In your cheek's cold and taciturn reflection,
I see insanity and horror forming.
The green succubus and the red urchin,
Have they poured you fear and love from their urns?
The nightmare of a mutinous fist that despotically turns,
Does it drown you at the bottom of a loch beyond searching?
I wish that your breast exhaled the scent of sanity,
That your womb of thought was not a tomb more frequently
And that your Christian blood flowed around a buoy that was rhythmical,
Like the numberless sounds of antique syllables,
Where reigns in turn the father of songs,
Phoebus, and the great Pan, the harvest sovereign.
Translated by William A. Sigler
Submitted by Ryan McGuire
poem by Charles Baudelaire
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Turn To Gold
SHINE!
I don't know why
all the fiction of your sleeping
doesn't visit you awake
I don't know how to get your storybook sunrise
to follow you above your cloudy day
all these gifts you left on you
with heaven painted on you
i wish this now with all my soul
may all your visions turn to gold
to have and hold
may all your visions turn to gold
may all your visions turn to gold
to have and hold
may all your visions turn to gold
terrified the world will never turn to look at you
and the sun won't see you shine
she'll resign for rose cooked blush just from your smiling
let the water form a cry
only better luck should greet you
the road should rise to meet you
i wish this now with all i know
may all your visions turn to gold
to have and hold
may all your visions turn to gold
may all your visions turn to gold
to have and hold
may all your visions turn to gold
loose inside your winter
feel the cold wind blowing
cutting through your head and through your ears
feel the fire growing
no more frozen danger
no more wrteched ice storm fear
may all your visions turn to gold
to have and hold
may all your visions turn to gold
may all your visions turn to gold
to have and hold
may all your visions turn to gold
song performed by by Audioslave
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Muse Is Free
I swim in the glimmers on the rivers muse
There I muse of love and love muse of me
In muse is ecstasy
my muse is free.
I lay by the brook, the muse's brook
And thirsty, I get up, to get a little drink
When I look, I see, I think
A beautiful Muse and my heart is shook
I dwell in a soul, a soulful muse
And to its harmony my soul withdrew
To the trumpets of muse the song of blue
My soul a muse, I always knew
I smell the odor, of muse's incense
In its torpor my body sleeps in my soul
And I smoke the smoke of muse intense
I laugh at myself amusingly droll
With my muse's nymphs we love in Hellas
Naked and free in the republic
Of beauty and art of love's Bellas
We love to we're entirely love sick.
My muse is free from the Devil's temptation
My Muse is free from God's judgment
My Muse is my only wordly nation
My Muse is a dream, I live, I lament
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Retrospection
I turn these leaves with thronging thoughts, and say,
Alas! how many friends of youth are dead;
How many visions of fair hope have fled,
Since first, my Muse, we met.--So speeds away
Life, and its shadows; yet we sit and sing,
Stretched in the noontide bower, as if the day
Declined not, and we yet might trill our lay
Beneath the pleasant morning's purple wing
That fans us; while aloft the gay clouds shine!
Oh, ere the coming of the long cold night,
Religion, may we bless thy purer light,
That still shall warm us, when the tints decline
O'er earth's dim hemisphere; and sad we gaze
On the vain visions of our passing days!
poem by William Lisle Bowles
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Provisions
Oil, wine and some fruits;
And to reassure your sweet love with my muse!
But i met you in am open field last night,
And i will look after you with my love.
Provisions and gifts,
In the open fields of love and care;
But i will surely deliver you with my love,
And like the muse of joy in the land of plenty.
Provisions, soon, son, sons, vision, visions, in, pin, poor!
And all around with the muse of your love;
But write down the words that i have spoken to you in a book,
For my joy is like the muse of the rainbow seen around.
Provisions, on, no, pros, sin, sins, ion, ions, is, in, pins!
But the life of a hunter is like the life of your muse;
And like the joy of your love as seen around,
Because i am ever ready to share my mind with you.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Black, White Or Coloured
I was born black and you were born white or coloured;
But we all came from the lovely hands of the Creator,
Because the Creator loves colours!
And like the muse of the rainbow seen across the sky.
I am always black! !
In the sun, in sickness and even when i die;
But the Creator made it so,
And i will be buried as a black when i die.
You were born white or coloured,
But you came out of the womb with the colour of the rose!
And you became whit eor coloured in the process of your growth,
But you are always blue when it is cold.
You do turn green when there is fear in your eyes!
But yellow when you are sick;
And like the various colours of the rainbow as seen across the sky,
But you will be grey when you die.
This shows that i am always black from birth to death,
But you do have various colours to satisfy your muse like the rainbow;
So you are more coloured than i am in this life,
And we all know the reality of these facts on this earth.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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La Beauté (Beauty)
Je suis belle, ô mortels! comme un rêve de pierre,
Et mon sein, où chacun s'est meurtri tour à tour,
Est fait pour inspirer au poète un amour
Eternel et muet ainsi que la matière.
Je trône dans l'azur comme un sphinx incompris;
J'unis un coeur de neige à la blancheur des cygnes;
Je hais le mouvement qui déplace les lignes,
Et jamais je ne pleure et jamais je ne ris.
Les poètes, devant mes grandes attitudes,
Que j'ai l'air d'emprunter aux plus fiers monuments,
Consumeront leurs jours en d'austères études;
Car j'ai, pour fasciner ces dociles amants,
De purs miroirs qui font toutes choses plus belles:
Mes yeux, mes larges yeux aux clartés éternelles!
Beauty
I am fair, O mortals! like a dream carved in stone,
And my breast where each one in turn has bruised himself
Is made to inspire in the poet a love
As eternal and silent as matter.
On a throne in the sky, a mysterious sphinx,
I join a heart of snow to the whiteness of swans;
I hate movement for it displaces lines,
And never do I weep and never do I laugh.
Poets, before my grandiose poses,
Which I seem to assume from the proudest statues,
Will consume their lives in austere study;
For I have, to enchant those submissive lovers,
Pure mirrors that make all things more beautiful:
My eyes, my large, wide eyes of eternal brightness!
— Translated by William Aggeler
Beauty
I'm fair, O mortals, as a dream of stone;
My breasts whereon, in turn, your wrecks you shatter,
Were made to wake in poets' hearts alone
A love as indestructible as matter.
A sky-throned sphinx, unknown yet, I combine
The cygnet's whiteness with a heart of snow.
I loathe all movement that displaces line,
And neither tears nor laughter do I know.
Poets before my postures, which I seem
To learn from masterpieces, love to dream
And there in austere thought consume their days.
I have, these docile lovers to subject,
Mirrors that glorify all they reflect —
These eyes, great eyes, eternal in their blaze!
— Translated by Roy Campbell
La Beauté
fair as a dream in stone I loom afar
— mortals! — with dazzling breast where, bruised in turn
all poets fall in silence, doomed to burn
with love eternal as the atoms are.
white as a swan I throne with heart of snow
in azure space, a sphynx that none divine,
no hateful motion mars my lovely line,
nor tears nor laughter shall I ever know.
and poets, lured by this magnificence
— this grandeur proud as Parian monuments —
toil all their days like martyrs in a spell;
lovers bewitched are they, for I possess
pure mirrors harbouring worlds of loveliness:
my wide, wide eyes where fires eternal dwell!
— Translated by Lewis Piaget Shanks
Beauty
Conceive me as a dream of stone:
my breast, where mortals come to grief,
is made to prompt all poets' love,
mute and noble as matter itself.
With snow for flesh, with ice for heart,
I sit on high, an unguessed sphinx
begrudging acts that alter forms;
I never laugh, I never weep.
In studious awe the poets brood
before my monumental pose
aped from the proudest pedestal,
and to bind these docile lovers fast
I freeze the world in a perfect mirror:
The timeless light of my wide eyes.
William A. Sigler
poem by Charles Baudelaire
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mr. And Mrs. James Akpan
I was seen by the eyes when i was around you people!
And like the days ahead of the sun to satisfy the muse of mankind;
But, the new moon of green ears of barley came in! !
And, it was with joy all over in the land of beautiful flowers.
Old habits are very hard to break!
But, this muse of yesterday now rigisters itself once againt today;
For your love introduced my muse to you,
But, what is man that you care so much about him?
Your words have encouraged those who stumbled,
Your love has now touched the hearts of many! !
And, your peace is very much known to us all;
However, i really came in to help your children.
Managements are really yours! !
But, to Mount Zion i will rejoice with the muse of my success;
And like the very words of Mrs. Akpan to me when i took up the contract,
But today, i am what i am because, i never went overboard!
What is life after all?
Whaz is love after all?
What is care after all?
What is peace after all?
What is untiy after all?
For, i really took your children like my own brothers and sisters;
And today, the benefits of my teachings had really made them great!
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Pleadings From a Dead Poet
Oh Muse, release the locks that dam the flow
Of verse and song from my distended heart.
Find passion for my soul that I have lost poetic speech.
Let flow the streams of ardency to seek their source
Within the infinite, harmonious, consistency of words.
Embrace me Muse,
Allow the fountains of my mind to fill the empty pools
Of solitude with thoughts and sounds of dreamy visions
Worthily expressed.
Awaken to my reverence,
Breathe forth that harmony to which my soul was filled.
I stand in this anhydrous waste, in dread
My ever-present being shall be made invisble to life.
And she replied:
'Be silent fool, and listen
For the still, soft whispers of your inner Self.
Harken to the Counsel of your bosom,
Through which Creation passes.
Then, you write.'
(Blank Verse)
poem by Lynn W. Petty
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A Fear Through Words
It is through fear I write this
Through fear I dare not speak these words
Or name the muse of who I pen them to
I hold a gentle and honest love to my heart
Such a love as yet untried and unknown
What good are my words when I cannot speak them
To my muse so beautiful so sweet, so divine
I fear I may lose them so completely
That I stay silent, bide my words so well
And watch with abject despair
My muse, object of my whole desire
Grow more distant with each passing day
And I fear I may lose all together
By speaking these words, these cursed words
I asked myself once, what I search for
Is it what I want or what I need in life
And there I saw my muse, a world of beauty
More than I could imagine or ask for
A gentle heart and loving nature
Those warm soothing eyes I look to
Do not see me as I would wish
I fear if they were to, see my innermost soul
My passion and my love for them
They would turn away and be lost completely
Which is why I write with fear
These words I dare not speak
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Appearance Of The Moon
The appearance of the moon and the muse of your love,
And like the fingers of the four living creatures;
But i saw the face of a man and the face of a lion!
And like the soles of a calf's hoof.
The face of an ox and the face of an eagle also came in,
But like a great marriage feast of love! !
And out of these visions came the muse of your love.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Prempeh
The dead know nothing and the living are living in fear!
But you are too young to be inspired by this message at hand;
For, the intospections of my realm are than the things you love.
Present in the blood are viruses!
And like a colourful durber with the muse of love;
But, my pet is the cat and,
To relocate my mind is like the muse of my residence.
The micro organisms are in the blood!
So, do inform Prempeh my friend to visit me;
For, i do have a message for him in this land of many rivers! !
But, do keep fit with your romance and keep fit with the love around you as well.
The beasts of a woman are now on the hairy chest of a man!
but, the dead know nothing and the living are living in fear! !
But this muse of love is now noted in your land;
For, the days are now shorter than the beautiful flowers of love.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Emell
This muse of love is like how to write a song,
This muse of care is like how to write a poem,
This muse of peace is like how to write a stroy,
This muse of joy is like how to write a book,
But, i am now delivered with the muse of your love!
Because, i now live in the land of your muse and,
You are called Emell.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Sonnet 38:
How can my muse want subject to invent,
While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse
Thine own sweet argument, too excellent
For every vulgar paper to rehearse?
O! give thy self the thanks, if aught in me
Worthy perusal stand against thy sight;
For who's so dumb that cannot write to thee,
When thou thy self dost give invention light?
Be thou the tenth Muse, ten times more in worth
Than those old nine which rhymers invocate;
And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth
Eternal numbers to outlive long date.
If my slight muse do please these curious days,
The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise.
poem by William Shakespeare
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Golden Visions
GOLDEN VISIONS
Written by Chris Cornell
Studio Demo
(Lyrics transcribed by Will Haines)
Shame
I don't know why
All the fiction of your sleeping
Doesn't visit you awake
I don't know how
To get your storybook sunrise
To follow you above your cloudy day
All these gifts should lay upon you
With heaven painted on you
I wish this now with all my soul
(chorus)
May all your visions turn to gold
To have and hold
May all your visions turn to gold
May all your visions turn to gold
To have and hold
May all your visions turn to gold
Terrified
The world will never turn to look at you
And the sun won't see you shine
Children's lives
For rose could bless just from your smilin'
And the water form a crown
Only better luck should greet you
The road should rise to meet you
I wish this now with all I know
(chorus)
Mmmmmmmm. . .
Lives inside your winter
Feel the cold wind blowing
Cutting through your head and your ears
Feel the fire growing
No more frozen danger
No more wretched
I stumbled
Fear
(chorus)
song performed by by Audioslave
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet 38: How can my Muse want subject to invent
How can my Muse want subject to invent
While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse
Thine own sweet argument, too excellent
For every vulgar paper to rehearse?
O, give thyself the thanks, if aught in me
Worthy perusal stand against thy sight,
For who's so dumb that cannot write to thee,
When thou thyself dost give invention light?
Be thou the tenth Muse, ten times more in worth
Than those old nine which rhymers invocate;
And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth
Eternal numbers to outlive long date.
If my slight Muse do please these curious days,
The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise.
poem by William Shakespeare
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The 7th Edition Of My Love
This poem is about the muse of your love,
But many will still wonder why?
Because i was in the bush last night and i saw your tears.
The dog became a god and the rat became a tar!
But war was very raw on your side;
And to leap for joy was like the peal of your muse.
I saw you tears yesterday,
But you can't repel the leper and come to me;
For the heavens know who i am,
But this poem will say it all.
This poem is about the muse of your love,
But what have they done to you my love? !
For i have seen the tears in your eyes.
I have now won the race and,
I will come and save you from this cold;
So put your clothes on without any clues on my muse,
For this era of your love is like the net over ten houses!
But i need a nap for you to use the pan on my stove.
The gel is now on your left leg,
And the dam is now visited by a mad man;
But a man at war is like the sorrows of your muse.
This is the 7th Edition of my love,
But i will come and save you from the heat!
And like shiny leaves with sharp points,
But try to abide in me and live with me in my abode.
Abreast yourself to the matters of love,
And leave your door ajar and let me meet Raja my friend;
For the anagram of my life is all about you,
Because Elvis lives in the land of your muse!
Append to my works to enhance your love,
But things around you are like the era of war!
So live up to the expectations of this poem,
And i will be there to save you with my sweet love.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Parpa
He is called Parpa ad
My love to him is like beauty and the beast;
But i do know his story and feelings too.
Our hearts will grow on this love,
And i will surrender all that i have to him;
For life is all about the muse of love.
I will not worry much about what i have,
Since i am in love with him;
But when life is empty, where will i go without him?
There are more things we do behind close doors,
And Parpa is my man on this muse so sweet;
For he has all that it takes to love me.
Making love with him is all that makes me go round deeper than ever!
For the first time that i ever saw his face,
I knew that he was the one to carry me on like the blues of songs.
I thought the sun reflected on the rose of love beside me,
So i will never leave him alone on this love;
For Parpa is my man so sweet on this muse that satisfies my heart.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Panama
I am from Panama and i am full of words,
So come and let me show you my concubines;
Then, you can explore my sweet love.
With two legs and two eyes,
With two hands and two ears,
And like the two pillars of love!
For, i am looking for a place to stay with this sweet muse.
They ate, drank and slept together! !
So, stay the night and enjoy yourself with my love;
And like 'Dr. Flash Hour' at the rush hour of the day!
But if only if i could hold your breasts and kiss you,
Then i will know your mind on this love.
If only if i could kiss your lips and love,
And like the sweet muse of love being reflected in the mirror! !
For i need ylou and i want your naked body beside me,
And like my concubines in the land of my muse.
Yes, come to Panama to enjoy my muse with the red roses of love,
For, i am loooking for a place to stay with this sweet muse of mine;
And, you are all that i need.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Hot Noodles!
Hot noodles!
Vigorous,
On the road,
With my health and my stregth,
But, whoever can't see it must touch it.
Original!
Here i am;
Home sweet home! !
With your muse,
With my muse;
However, you can feel it when you can't hear it.
Clock, flock, hock, block, lock, dock!
With the muse of your love,
And like chatting with your teacher;
Very active! !
Because you were just paid;
But, mighty be your powers.
Jock, rock, knock, stock!
Just got paid,
reaper, repair! !
Cream and butter,
Love and romance,
And like 40 light years away!
But this frozen planet is like the muse of your love.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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