about
Poem by Baudelaire, adapted by Trixie Delight
Music by Trixie Delight
lyrics
Like a newly struck medal
The full moon spread its rays,
And the dark night streamed
Like a river over sleeping Paris.
Cats passed by with ears pricked up,
Like beloved shades.
From you, till then as joyful as a peal
Of trumpets on a sparkling morn,
A cry so plaintive that it seemed unreal,
Was staggeringly torn.
"That naught is certain here below,
That always, though it paint its face
With utmost care
Man's selfishness reveals itself,
That it's a hard calling
To be a lovely woman,
And that it is the banal task
Of the cold and silly danseuse
Fainting With a mechanical smile,
That to build on hearts is a foolish thing,
That all things break, love, and beauty,
Till Oblivion tosses them into his dosser
To give them back to Eternity!"
A medal, newly-coined, of flashing silver,
The full moon shone. The night was old.
Its solemn grandeur, like a mighty river,
Through sleeping Paris softly rolled.
From you, till then as joyful as a peal
Of trumpets on a sparkling morn,
A cry so plaintive that it seemed unreal,
Was staggeringly torn.
"That nothing in this world is certain,
And human egotism is the thing
Which all existence serves to curtain.
That it's an irksome task to be a beauty,
A boring job one has to face —
Like frigid dancers, smiling as a duty
With hard, mechanical grimace:
That building upon hearts is idiotic:
All cracks, love, beauty, and fraternity
Until Oblivion puts them in his pocket
To pawn them on to old Eternity!"
I often have recalled that moon of magic,
That languid hush on quays and marts,
And then this confidence, so grim and tragic,
In the confessional of hearts.
credits
license
all rights reserved