I happened to pick up a book of poems by a late leading poet of France by the name of Charles Baudelaire. I took a great liking to his poetry. Of his history: He wrote most of his poetry in his twenties, and when it was published in 1857 it was the subject of a trial for blasphemy and immorality. He never got married, and for much of his life carried on an unhappy love affair with the mulatto Jeanne Duval.
I have a lot more poems left to be read in the book. But these are the two I really liked, the first one is entitled music and the second is owls.
Note: Happened to check his poems out on the net, the translations are different. I have the copy published by Phoenix Poetry publishers.
Music
Music's a sea of sound; and once afloat
My pale star calls
Mist hangs or huge skies loom above my boat:
I raise my sails,
Breast forward, and lungs swelling in the breeze
All muscles tight,
I climb the slippery backs of tumbling seas
Hidden by night.
Tormented like my vessel by the storm
I feel at ease;
But when the sea is calm and the sun warm,
The waters bright,
Then all I find in the unmoving air
Is my despair.
Owls
Ranched on the branches of a yew,
Darting red eyes that never blink,
Like Gods to whom the world seems new,
Behold the owls. They sit and think.
For hours and hours they do not stir:
The sun moves slowly down the sky,
And darkness settles everywhere;
The last sad rays of dayligh die.
The wise man learns, observing them,
That man, the victim of a will
Incapable of keeping still
Is doomed to pay the penalty
Of never feeling quite at home,
Besotted with the transitory.