Alchimie de la douleur/Horreur sympathique

My kingdom for a warm atmosphere. I don't think man was meant for a life that requires him to wear more clothes to bed than he does when he walks around outside. My life may or may not be more worth living if I had the good fortune to dwell in a house where the heat worked. That said, it only seems to be a problem when I have to drag myself out of my warm bed and into the cruel morning air. Groargh. Maybe I will start sitting in the bathroom with the shower on. It would open up my pores.

I am rediscovering books.

The Alchemy of Grief
The one lights you with his fervor,
The other puts his grief into you, Nature!
That which says to the one: Sepulcher!
Says to the other: Life and splendor!

Unknown Hermes who assists me
And who always restrains me,
You render me the equal of Midas,
The saddest of alchemists;

For you I change gold into iron
And Heaven into Hell;
In the shroud of the clouds

I discover a beloved cadaver,
And on the celestial shores
I build great sarcophagi.

Alchimie de la douleur
L'un t'éclaire avec son ardeur,
L'autre en toi met son deuil, Nature!
Ce qui dit à l'un: Sépulture!
Dit à l'autre: Vie et splendeur!

Hermès inconnu qui m'assistes
Et qui toujours m'intimidas,
Tu me rends l'égal de Midas,
Le plus triste des alchimistes;

Par toi je change l'or en fer
Et le paradis en enfer;
Dans le suaire des nuages

Je découvre un cadavre cher,
Et sur les célestes rivages
Je bâtis de grands sarcophages.

Sympathetic Horror
From the bizarre and livid sky,
Tormented as your destiny,
What thoughts into your empty soul
Descend? Respond, libertine.

—Insatiably greedy
For the obscure and the uncertain,
I will not moan like Ovid
Chased from Latin paradise.

Skies torn up like the shores
In you my pride is reflected;
Your great clouds in mourning

Are the hearses of my dreams,
And your glimmers are the reflection
Of the Hell where my heart is pleased.

Horreur sympathique
De ce ciel bizarre et livide,
Tourmenté comme ton destin,
Quels pensers dans ton âme vide
Descendent? réponds, libertin.

— Insatiablement avide
De l'obscur et de l'incertain,
Je ne geindrai pas comme Ovide
Chassé du paradis latin.

Cieux déchirés comme des grèves
En vous se mire mon orgueil;
Vos vastes nuages en deuil

Sont les corbillards de mes rêves,
Et vos lueurs sont le reflet
De l'Enfer où mon coeur se plaît.