L'Invitation au voyage
Mon enfant, ma soeur, Songe à la douceur D'aller là-bas vivre ensemble! Aimer à loisir, Aimer et mourir Au pays qui te ressemble! Les soleils mouillés De ces ciels brouillés Pour mon esprit ont les charmes Si mystérieux De tes traîtres yeux, Brillant à travers leurs larmes.
Là, tout n'est qu'ordre et beauté, Luxe, calme et volupté.
Des meubles luisants, Polis par les ans, Décoreraient notre chambre; Les plus rares fleurs Mêlant leurs odeurs Aux vagues senteurs de l'ambre, Les riches plafonds, Les miroirs profonds, La splendeur orientale, Tout y parlerait À l'âme en secret Sa douce langue natale.
Là, tout n'est qu'ordre et beauté, Luxe, calme et volupté.
Vois sur ces canaux Dormir ces vaisseaux Dont l'humeur est vagabonde; C'est pour assouvir Ton moindre désir Qu'ils viennent du bout du monde. Les soleils couchants Revêtent les champs, Les canaux, la ville entière, D'hyacinthe et d'or; Le monde s'endort Dans une chaude lumière.
Là, tout n'est qu'ordre et beauté, Luxe, calme et volupté.
— Charles Baudelaire
Invitation to the Voyage
My child, my sister, Think of the rapture Of living together there! Of loving at will, Of loving till death, In the land that is like you! The misty sunlight Of those cloudy skies Has for my spirit the charms, So mysterious, Of your treacherous eyes, Shining brightly through their tears.
There all is order and beauty, Luxury, peace, and pleasure.
Gleaming furniture, Polished by the years, Will ornament our bedroom; The rarest flowers Mingling their fragrance With the faint scent of amber, The ornate ceilings, The limpid mirrors, The oriental splendor, All would whisper there Secretly to the soul In its soft, native language.
There all is order and beauty, Luxury, peace, and pleasure.
See on the canals Those vessels sleeping. Their mood is adventurous; It's to satisfy Your slightest desire That they come from the ends of the earth. — The setting suns Adorn the fields, The canals, the whole city, With hyacinth and gold; The world falls asleep In a warm glow of light.
There all is order and beauty, Luxury, peace, and pleasure.
— William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)
Invitation to the Voyage
My child, my sister, Imagine the pleasure Of going to live there together! Love at our leisure, Love then expire In a land as fair as you are! The damp suns that rise In those misty skies Have in my mind the same charm And same mysteries As your traitor eyes That through their tears gleam.
There, only order and beauty, Voluptuousness, calm and luxury.
Gleaming chests and chairs Polished by the years Would decorate our bedchamber; The rarest blooms Mingle their perfumes With a vague scent of amber, Rich interiors With deep mirrors And Oriental tapestries hung: Everything would speak To the soul in secret Its sweet native tongue.
There, only order and beauty, Luxe, calme and volupté.
See on the canals How the great vessels Lie dreaming they are setting forth; It is to satisfy Your every whim They come from the ends of the earth. — The sun going down Dresses the town, The canals, their banks, every site, In hyacinth and gold; My sister, the world Falls asleep in a radiant light.
Là, tout n’est qu’ordre et beauté, Luxe, calme et volupté.
— Beverley Bie Brahic, Invitation to the Voyage (London New York Calcutta: Seagull Books, 2021)
Invitation to the Voyage
My daughter, my sister, Consider the vista Of living out there, you and I, To love at our leisure, Then, ending our pleasure, In climes you resemble to die. There the suns, rainy-wet, Through clouds rise and set With the selfsame enchantment to charm me That my senses receive From your eyes, that deceive, When they shine through your tears to disarm me.
There'll be nothing but beauty, wealth, pleasure, With all things in order and measure.
With old treasures furnished, By centuries burnished, To gleam in the shade of our chamber, While the rarest of flowers Vaguely mix through the hours Their own with the perfume of amber: Each sumptuous ceiling, Each mirror revealing The wealth of the East, will be hung So the part and the whole May speak to the soul In its native, indigenous tongue.
There'll be nothing but beauty, wealth, pleasure, With all things in order and measure.
On the channels and streams See each vessel that dreams In its whimsical vagabond way, Since its for your least whim The oceans they swim From the ends of the night and the day. The sun, going down, With its glory will crown Canals, fields, and cities entire, While the whole earth is rolled In the jacinth and gold Of its warming and radiant fire.
There'll be nothing but beauty, wealth, pleasure With all things in order and measure.
— Roy Campbell, Poems of Baudelaire (New York: Pantheon Books, 1952)
An Invitation to Voyage
My child, my sister, Think of the delight Of going far off and living together! Of loving peacefully, Loving and dying In the land that bears your resemblance! The wet suns Of those disheveled skies Have for my spirit The mysterious charm Of your treacherous eyes Shining through their tears.
There, all is order and beauty, Richness, quiet and pleasure.
Highly polished furniture, Made beautiful by time, Would decorate our room; The rarest flowers Mingling their odors With the vague fragrance of amber, Rich ceilings, Deep mirrors, Eastern splendor, Everything there would speak In secret to the soul Its sweet native tongue.
There, all is order and beauty, Richness, quiet and pleasure.
Behold sleeping On the canals those ships Whose temperament is a wanderer's; It is to satisfy Your slightest desire That they come from the ends of the world. — The setting sun Clothes the fields, The canals, the entire city, With hyacinth and gold; The world goes to sleep In a warm light.
There, all is order and beauty, Richness, quiet and pleasure.
— Wallace Fowlie, Flowers of Evil (New York: Dover Publications, 1964)
Invitation to the Voyage
Think, would it not be Sweet to live with me All alone, my child, my love? — Sleep together, share All things, in that fair Country you remind me of? Charming in the dawn There, the half-withdrawn Drenched, mysterious sun appears In the curdled skies, Treacherous as your eyes Shining from behind their tears.
There, restraint and order bless Luxury and voluptuousness.
We should have a room Never out of bloom: Tables polished by the palm Of the vanished hours Should reflect rare flowers In that amber-scented calm; Ceilings richly wrought, Mirrors deep as thought, Walls with eastern splendor hung, All should speak apart To the homesick heart In its own dear native tongue.
There, restraint and order bless Luxury and voluptuousness.
See, their voyage past, To their moorings fast, On the still canals asleep, These big ships; to bring You some trifling thing They have braved the furious deep. — Now the sun goes down, Tinting dyke and town, Field, canal, all things in sight, Hyacinth and gold; All that we behold Slumbers in its ruddy light.
There, restraint and order bless Luxury and voluptuousness.
— Edna St. Vincent Millay, Flowers of Evil (NY: Harper and Brothers, 1936)
Invitation to the Voyage
My child mistress/mother sister/dream How acceptable all things would be Were we to live in that land where The slow and the long, short and the strong
Die in the dance of being less than one another In a perpetual summer of imageless desire. Flagellated and forgotten suns Drink in the step of my azure lost skies And move to mysterylessness our chemical miseries Within which the treadling eyes of indefiniteness Are no more than the tears of the damned. Take from my heart, a platinum measure Free of solitude's false grace And awkward adolescent pleasures. Here is the furniture That caresses the dust of the years And counts the wrinkled set into the brain On fingers that have made their own doom. Evil the eyes that look back at us in dreams, Evil the touch of the deaths that have not loved us Evil the sorrow which shelters itself from release And the evils accumulate Leaving us idle and alone Though an Eastern splendor, An Eastern hatred of the idea of loss Eddies in the river of slime That has not won us. Hidden from the waves in still canals We sit in a small boat that refuses To set forth. To satisfy need, To accommodate our need of forever, We sit in the boat And wait for a clearer sky, A more propitious moment to launch While thinking of Cortez' Miraculous slaughter of and victory over The children of the sun.
— Will Schmitz
Invitation to a Journey
My sister, my dear Consider how fair, Together to live it would be! Down yonder to fly To love, till we die, In the land which resembles thee. Those suns that rise 'Neath erratic skies, — No charm could be like unto theirs — So strange and divine, Like those eyes of thine Which glow in the midst of their tears.
There, all is order and loveliness, Luxury, calm and voluptuousness.
The tables and chairs, Polished bright by the years, Would decorate sweetly our rooms, And the rarest of flowers Would twine round our bowers And mingle their amber perfumes: The ceilings arrayed, And the mirrors inlaid, This Eastern splendour among, Would furtively steal O'er our skuls, and appeal With its tranquillous native tongue.
There, all is order and loveliness, Luxury, calm and voluptuousness.
In the harbours, peep, At the vessels asleep (Their humour is always to roam), Yet it is but to grant Thy smallest want From the ends of the earth that they come, The sunsets beam Upon meadow and stream, And upon the city entire 'Neath a violet crest, The world sinks to rest, Illumed by a golden fire.
There, all is order and loveliness, Luxury, calm and voluptuousness.
— Cyril Scott, Baudelaire: The Flowers of Evil (London: Elkin Mathews, 1909)
The Invitation to the Voyage
How sweet, my own, Could we live alone Over beyond the sea! To love and to die Indolently In the land that's akin to thee! Where the suns which rise In the watery skies Weave soft spells over my sight, As thy false eyes do When they flicker through Their tears with a dim, strange light.
There all is beauty and symmetry, Pleasure and calm and luxury.
Years that have gone Have polished and shone The things that would fill our room; The flowers most rare Which scent the air In the richly-ceiling'd gloom, And the mirrors profound, And the walls around With Orient splendour hung, To the soul would speak Of things she doth seek In her gentle native tongue.
There all is beauty and symmetry, Pleasure and calm and luxury.
The canals are deep Where the strange ships sleep Far from the land of their birth; To quench the fire Of thy least desire They have come from the ends of the earth. The sunsets drown Peaceful town And meadow, and stagnant stream In bistre and gold, And the world enfold In a warm and luminous dream.
There all is beauty and symmetry, Pleasure and calm and luxury.
— Jack Collings Squire, Poems and Baudelaire Flowers (London: The New Age Press, Ltd, 1909)