THE OWLS

by: Charles Baudelaire

NDER the overhanging yews,

The dark owls sit in solemn state,

Like stranger gods; by twos and twos

Their red eyes gleam. They meditate.

 

Motionless thus they sit and dream

Until that melancholy hour

When, with the sun's last fading gleam,

The nightly shades assume their power.

 

From their still attitude the wise

Will learn with terror to despise

All tumult, movement, and unrest;

 

For he who follows every shade,

Carries the memory in his breast,

Of each unhappy journey made.

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