O muse of my heart, lover of palaces, <br />Will you bring, when January lets loose its sleet <br />And its black evenings without solace, <br />An ember to warm my violet feet? <br />What will revive your bruised shoulders, <br />The nocturnal rays that pierce the shutters? <br />When you cannot feel your palace, just your empty billfold, <br />How will you harvest the gold of azure vaults and gutters? <br /> <br />You should, to earn your bread today <br />Like a choir boy with a censer to wave, <br />Sings hymns with feeling but without belief. <br /> <br />Or, a starving rip-off artist, selling your charm <br />And your laughter shades the tears so no one sees the harm <br />In bringing to bloom an ordinary rat, a vulgar thief. <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/the-venal-muse/
