The Flowers of Evil 1732 Studios

French · Spleen and Ideal

Moesta et errabunda

Sorrowful and Wandering

30 lines · 13 notes

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  1. 1

    Tell me, does your heart sometimes take flight, Agatha,

    Distelldire · verb, imperative, second-person, singularmain verb of the sentence
    -moimemoi · pronoun, singularindirect object of Dis
    tonyourton · determiner, singulardeterminer of coeur
    coeurheartcoeur · noun, masculine, singularsubject of envole
    parfoissometimesparfois · adverbmodifies envole
    s'itselfse · pronoun, reflexivedepends on envole
    envoletakes flightenvoler · verb, present, indicative, third-person, singularverb of the clause following Dis-moi
    -t(linking sound)-t- · euphonic linking consonantlinks envole and il
    -ilitil · pronoun, masculine, singularsubject of envole (inverted)
    AgatheAgathaAgathe · proper noundirect address
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    Far from the black ocean of the filthy city

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    Toward another ocean where splendor blazes,

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    Blue, bright, deep, as is virginity itself?

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    Tell me, does your heart sometimes take flight, Agatha?

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    The sea, the vast sea, consoles our toils!

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    What demon endowed the sea, that hoarse songstress

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    Whom the immense organ of the growling winds accompanies,

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    With this sublime office of a lullaby-singer?

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    The sea, the vast sea, consoles our toils!

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    Carry me off, railway car! bear me away, frigate!

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    Far! far away! here the mud is made of our tears!

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    — Is it true that sometimes the sorrowful heart of Agatha

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    Says: Far from remorse, from crimes, from sorrows,

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    Carry me off, railway car, bear me away, frigate?

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    How far away you are, perfumed paradise,

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    Where under a clear blue all is nothing but love and joy,

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    Where all that one loves is worthy of being loved,

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    Where in pure delight the heart drowns itself!

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    How far away you are, perfumed paradise!

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    But the green paradise of childhood loves,

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    The races, the songs, the kisses, the bouquets,

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    The violins quivering behind the hills,

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    With the jugs of wine, at evening, among the groves,

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    — But the green paradise of childhood loves,

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    The innocent paradise, full of furtive pleasures,

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    Is it already farther off than India and than China?

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    Can one call it back with plaintive cries,

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    And quicken it once more with a silvery voice,

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    The innocent paradise full of furtive pleasures?

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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Data
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Two whoopie pies and a pine. An inside joke.