THE VENAL MUSE

    (From the French of Charles Baudelaire)

Muse of my heart, a palace would be sweet,
But when the winter lets its cold winds blow,
During the dull, dark evenings full of snow,
Will you have a fire to warm your frozen feet?

Will you revive your shoulders, white with cold,
With nothing but the street lamps' distant glow?
When wallet and stomach are empty, will you go
Gathering the untold wealth of sunset's gold?

To gain your daily bread, you'll have to swing
The censer like a choirboy and sing
Praises of which you scarce believe a word,

Or, like a starving acrobat, display
Your points and laugh, hiding your tears away,
In order to amuse the common herd.

 

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