We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
I am as lovely as a dream in stone; My breast on which each finds his death in turn Inspires the poet with a love as lone As everlasting clay, and as taciturn. Swan-white of heart, as sphinx no mortal knows, My throne is in the heaven's azure deep; I hate all movement that disturbs my pose; I smile not ever, neither do I weep.
Before my monumental attitudes, Taken from the proudest plastic arts, My poets pray in austere studious moods,
For I, to fold enchantment round their hearts, Have pools of light where beauty flames and dies, The placid mirrors of my luminous eyes.
I may be alone here in not liking this or other English translations of Les Fleurs du Mal. There is no way to translate rhyme, and in attempting to do so the meaning and meter go off by themselves somewhere else, sometimes gracefully, but more than often not.