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Recueillement —Charles Baudelaire, Les Fleurs du Mal Sois sage, ô ma Douleur, et tiens-toi plus tranquille. Tu réclamais le Soir; il descend; le voici: une atmosphère obscure enveloppe la ville, aux uns portant la paix, aux autres le souci. Pendant que des mortels la multitude vile, sous le fouet du Plaisir, ce bourreau sans merci, va cueillir des remords dans la fête servile, ma Douleur, donne-moi la main; viens par ici, loin d’eux. Vois se pencher les défuntes Années, sur les balcons du ciel, en robes surannées; surgir du fond des eaux le Regret souriant; le Soleil moribond s’endormir sous une arche, et, comme un long linceul traînant à l’Orient, entends, ma chère, entends la douce Nuit qui marche. Notes on a Translation: Silence o my Dolor, and keep yourself still You clamored for Evening, here it descends: a darkening air envelops the town, will to some, bear their peace, to others its end. Wait with the miserable mortal multitudes who sit at the out of Pleasure, sadist without heart, going to collect Wisdom, oh my Dolor, and hold yourself still. You clamored for Evening; here it descends: An obscure atmosphere envelops the town, will to some bear peace, to others its end. While mortals in their vile multitudes, beasts under the whip of Pleasure, torturer without mercy, go gather crumbs of remorse at its slavish feast, my Dolor, give me your hand; come from there, see far from them. See them now lean, the defunct Years, upon the balconies of the sky, in dated dress; Emerging from the waters the smiling Regret; the dying Sun asleep beneath an arch, and, like a long shroud trailing to the East, listen, my dear, listen to the soft Night who leaves. Wise up, o my Pain, and quiet down. You wanted the Night, here it comes: Darkness envelops the town, bearing peace to few, not to some. While men in their vile crowds Heel under Pleasure's merciless whip, gathering crumbs of remorse like sows, come my Pain, let us slip away. Look as the defunct Years lean on the sky's balconies, and Regret leaves the waters smiling, dying Sun sleeps below an arch and like a shroud to the east piling, listen, my dear, to the soft Night leaving. Speak! © Copyright 2003 Allan Baruz, formatter; Laid out by R Allan Baruz. Last update: 3/12/03; 1:17:54 AM. This theme is based on the SoundWaves (blue) Manila theme.