名人诗歌|The Fountain of Blood

by Charles Baudelaire （Translated by Rachel Hadas）

A fountain's pulsing sobslike this my blood

Measures its flowing， so it sometimes seems.

I hear a gentle murmur^{1 as it streams；}

Where the wound lies I've never understood.

Like water meadows， boulevards are flooded.

Cobblestones， crisscrossed by scarlet^{2 rills，}

Are islands； creatures come and drink their fill.

Nothing in nature now remains^{3 unblooded.}

I used to hope that wine could bring me ease，

Could lull^{4 asleep my deeply gnawing5 mind.}

I was a fool： the senses clear with wine.

I looked to Love to cure my old disease.

Love led me to a thicket^{6 of IVs}

Where bristling^{7 needles thirsted for each vein8.}