L'invitation au voyage [English translation]

My daughter, my sister,

Consider the vista

Of living out there, you and I,

To love at our leisure,

Then, ending our pleasure,

In climes you resemble to die.

There the suns, rainy-wet,

Through clouds rise and set

With the selfsame enchantment to charm me

That my senses receive

From your eyes, that deceive,

When they shine through your tears to disarm me.

There'll be nothing but beauty, wealth, pleasure,

With all things in order and measure.

With old treasures furnished,

By centuries burnished,

To gleam in the shade of our chamber,

While the rarest of flowers

Vaguely mix through the hours

Their own with the perfume of amber:

Each sumptuous ceiling,

Each mirror revealing

The wealth of the East, will be hung

So the part and the whole

May speak to the soul

In its native, indigenous tongue.

There'll be nothing but beauty, wealth, pleasure,

With all things in order and measure.

On the channels and streams

See each vessel that dreams

In its whimsical vagabond way,

Since its for your least whim

The oceans they swim

From the ends of the night and the day.

The sun, going down, With its glory will crown

Canals, fields, and cities entire,

While the whole earth is rolled

In the jacinth and gold

Of its warming and radiant fire.

There'll be nothing but beauty, wealth, pleasure

With all things in order and measure.

• Artist:Charles Baudelaire
• Album:Les fleurs du mal (1861 - 2ème édition) - 053 - Spleen et idéal - LIII