Page:Poems of Baudelaire Sturm.djvu/91

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(An Ex-Voto in the Spanish taste.)

, mistress, I would build for thee An altar deep in the sad soul of me; And in the darkest corner of my heart, From mortal hopes and mocking eyes apart, Carve of enamelled blue and gold a shrine For thee to stand erect in, Image divine! And with a mighty Crown thou shalt be crowned Wrought of the gold of my smooth Verse, set round With starry crystal rhymes; and I will make, O mortal maid, a Mantle for thy sake, And weave it of my jealousy, a gown Heavy, barbaric, stiff, and weighted down With my distrust, and broider round the hem Not pearls, but all my tears in place of them. And then thy wavering, trembling robe shall be All the desires that rise and fall in me From mountain-peaks to valleys of repose, Kissing thy lovely body’s white and rose. For thy humiliated feet divine, Of my Respect I’ll make thee Slippers fine Which, prisoning them within a gentle fold,