Above the ponds, beyond the valleys, <br />The woods, the mountains, the clouds, the seas, <br />Farther than the sun, the distant breeze, <br />The spheres that wilt to infinity <br /> <br />My spirit, you move with agility <br />And, like a good swimmer who swoons in the wave <br />You groove the depths immensity gave, <br />The inexpressible and male ecstasy. <br /> <br />>From this miasma of waste, <br />You will be purified in superior air <br />And drink a pure and divine liqueur, <br />A clear fire to replace the limpid space <br /> <br />Behind this boredom and fatigue, this vast chagrin <br />Whose weight moves the mists of existence, <br />Happy is he who vigorously fans the senses <br />Toward serene and luminous fields—wincing! <br /> <br />The one whose thoughts are like skylarks taken wing <br />Across the heavens mornings in full flight <br />—Who hovers over life, understanding without effort <br />The language of flowers and mute things. <br /> <br /> <br />Translated by William A. Sigler <br /> <br /> <br />Submitted by Ryan McGuire<br /><br />Charles Baudelaire<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/elevation/
