The Fountain
By Charles Baudelaire
Translated by Anthony Hecht
My dear, your eyes are weary;
Rest them a little while.
Assume the languid posture
Of pleasure mixed with guile.
Outside the talkative fountain
Continues night and day
Repeating my warm passion
In whatever it has to say.
The sheer luminous gown
The fountain wears
Where Phoebe’s very own
Color appears
Falls like a summer rain
Or shawl of tears.
Thus your soul ignited
By pleasure’s lusts and needs
Sprays into heaven’s reaches
And dreams of fiery deeds.
Then it brims over, dying,
And languorous, apart,
Drains down some slope and enters
The dark well of my heart.
The sheer luminous gown
The fountain wears
Where Phoebe’s very own
Color appears
Falls like a summer rain
Or shawl of tears.
O you, whom night enhances,
How sweet here at your breasts
To hear the eternal sadness
Of water that never rests.
O moon, o singing fountain,
O leaf-thronged night above,
You are the faultless mirrors
Of my sweet, bitter love.
The sheer luminous gown
The fountain wears
Where Phoebe’s very own
Color appears
Falls like a summer rain
Or shawl of tears.
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Allegedly, our roof is repaired -- to their credit, the roofing company had someone at our house bright and early, and after inspection, he re-sealed whatever goes under the shingles and made sure the caulk was tight around the pipes. Of course we won't know whether this actually did the job until we have a bad rainstorm.
Because the roofer was here, Paul worked from home, so we had lunch together and watched Endeavour while working on our respective computers. I had an invitation to an EX raid at Timberlawn Park courtesy a friend in the area group, so I went out for that, though I have not yet found any shiny Machops.
We watched The Flash, which was as comic book-y as it gets (Gorilla Grodd vs. King Shark, though not really enough of that), then we caught up on Black Lightning (far more serious, and more dramatic) before Drunk History and Miracle Workers (a perfect duo of crack). Green Spring Gardens orchids:
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