The Sadness Of The Moon
Charles Baudelaire
THE Moon more indolently dreams to-night Than a fair woman on her couch at rest, Caressing, with a hand distraught and light, Before she sleeps, the contour of her breast. Upon her silken avalanche of down, Dying she breathes a long and swooning sigh; And watches the white visions past her flown, Which rise like blossoms to the azure sky. And when, at times, wrapped in her languor deep, Earthward she lets a furtive tear-drop flow, Some pious poet, enemy of sleep, Takes in his hollow hand the tear of snow Whence gleams of iris and of opal start, And hides it from the Sun, deep in his heart.
Next 10 Poems
- Charles Baudelaire : The Seven Old Men
- Charles Baudelaire : The Sick Muse
- Charles Baudelaire : The Sky
- Charles Baudelaire : The Swan
- Charles Baudelaire : The Temptation
- Charles Baudelaire : The Venal Muse
- Charles Baudelaire : To A Brown Beggar-maid
- Charles Baudelaire : To A Madonna
- Charles Baudelaire : Travelling Bohemians
- Charles Baudelaire : Un Plaisant
Previous 10 Poems
- Charles Baudelaire : The Remorse Of The Dead
- Charles Baudelaire : The Owls
- Charles Baudelaire : The Living Flame
- Charles Baudelaire : The Irreparable
- Charles Baudelaire : The Ghost
- Charles Baudelaire : The Flask
- Charles Baudelaire : The Eyes Of Beauty
- Charles Baudelaire : The Enemy
- Charles Baudelaire : The Dance Of Death
- Charles Baudelaire : The Bad Monk