The Flowers of Evil 1732 Studios

French · Spleen and Ideal

Hymne à la Beauté

Hymn to Beauty

28 lines · 12 notes

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  1. 1

    Do you come from the deep sky or rise out of the abyss,

    Viensdo you comevenir · verb, present, indicative, second-person, singularmain verb of the sentence
    tuyoutu · pronoun, second-person, singularsubject of Viens
    dufrom thede · preposition (contracted with le)preposition marking ciel
    cielskyciel · noun, masculine, singularoblique argument of Viens
    profonddeepprofond · adjective, masculine, singularmodifies ciel
    ouorou · conjunctionlinks the coordination
    sorsdo you risesortir · verb, present, indicative, second-person, singularcoordinated with Viens
    tuyoutu · pronoun, second-person, singularsubject of sors
    defromde · prepositionpreposition marking abîme
    l'thele · determiner, singulardeterminer of abîme
    abîmeabyssabîme · noun, masculine, singularoblique argument of sors
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    O Beauty? your gaze, infernal and divine,

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    Pours out, all mingled, both the blessing and the crime,

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    And for that one may compare you to wine.

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    You hold within your eye the sunset and the dawn;

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    You spread out perfumes like a stormy evening;

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    Your kisses are a love-potion and your mouth an amphora

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    That make the hero a coward and the child brave.

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    Do you rise from the black gulf or descend from the stars?

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    Spellbound, Destiny follows your skirts like a dog;

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    You scatter at random both the joy and the disasters,

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    And you govern everything and answer for nothing.

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    You walk upon the dead, Beauty, whom you mock;

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    Of your jewels, Horror is not the least charming,

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    And Murder, among your dearest trinkets,

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    Dances lovingly upon your prideful belly.

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    The dazzled mayfly flies toward you, candle,

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    Crackles, blazes, and says: Let us bless this torch!

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    The panting lover bent over his beloved

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    Has the look of a dying man caressing his tomb.

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    Whether you come from heaven or from hell, what does it matter,

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    O Beauty! monster enormous, terrifying, ingenuous!

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    If your eye, your smile, your foot, open for me the door

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    Of an Infinite that I love and have never known?

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    From Satan or from God, what does it matter? Angel or Siren,

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    What does it matter, if you make — fairy with eyes of velvet,

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    Rhythm, perfume, glimmer, O my one and only queen! —

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    The universe less hideous and the moments less heavy?

The particulars

The text
Les Fleurs du mal, Charles Baudelaire. Spleen and Ideal.
Translation
Public-domain French (Baudelaire, d. 1867). English translation © 2026 1732 Studios, LLC.
Words
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Two whoopie pies and a pine. An inside joke.