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71

AVE ATQUE VALE.

IN MEMORY OF CHARLES BAUDELAIRE.

Nous devrions pourtant lui porter quelques fleurs;
Les morts, les pauvres morts, ont de grandes douleurs,
Et quand Octobre souffle, émondeur des vieux arbres,
Son vent mélancolique à l'entour de leurs marbres,
Certe, ils doivent trouver les vivants bien ingrats.

Les Fleurs du Mal.

I.

Shall I strew on thee rose or rue or laurel,

⁠Brother, on this that was the veil of thee?
⁠Or quiet sea-flower moulded by the sea,
Or simplest growth of meadow-sweet or sorrel,
⁠Such as the summer-sleepy Dryads weave,
⁠Waked up by snow-soft sudden rains at eve?
Or wilt thou rather, as on earth before,
⁠Half-faded fiery blossoms, pale with heat
⁠And full of bitter summer, but more sweet

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