(_Le Guignon_)
To raise this dreadful burden as I ought
It needs thy courage, Sisyphus, for I
Well know how long is Art, and Life how short.
--My soul is willing, but the moments fly.
Towards some remote churchyard without a name
In forced funereal marches my steps come;
Far from the storied sepulchres of fame.
--My heart is beating like a muffled drum.
Full many a flaming jewel shrouded deep
In shadow and oblivion, lies asleep,
Safe from the toiling mattocks of mankind.
Sad faery blossoms secret scents distil
In trackless solitudes; nor ever will
The lone anemone her lover find!
Note.--It seems fairly obvious--and perhaps this is a discovery
--that Baudelaire must have read Gray's "Elegy." As we know,
he was a first-class English scholar, and whether he plagiarised
or unconsciously remembered the most perfect stanza that Gray
ever wrote, one can hardly doubt that the gracious music of the
French was borrowed from or influenced by the no less splendid
rhythm of--
"Full many a gem of purest ray serene
The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear:
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air."