SONNET OF AUTUMN
by: Charles Baudelaire
say to me, thy clear and crystal eyes:
- "Why dost thou love me so, strange lover mine?"
- Be sweet, be still! My heart and soul despise
- All save that antique brute-like faith of thine;
- And will not bare the secret of their shame
- To thee whose hand soothes me to slumbers long,
- Nor their black legend write for thee in flame!
- Passion I hate, a spirit does me wrong.
- Let us love gently. Love, from his retreat,
- Ambushed and shadowy, bends his fatal bow,
- And I too well his ancient arrows know:
- Crime, horror, folly. O pale marguerite,
- Thou art as I, a bright sun fallen low,
- O my so white, my so cold Marguerite.
MORE POEMS BY CHARLES BAUDELAIRE
'Sonnet of Autumn' is reprinted
from The Poems and Prose Poems of Charles Baudelaire.
Ed. James Huneker. New York: Brentano's, 1919.