At One O’Clock In The Morning (Charles Baudelaire Poems)
Alone, at last! Not a sound to be heard but the rumbling of some belated and decrepit cabs. For a ...
Alone, at last! Not a sound to be heard but the rumbling of some belated and decrepit cabs. For a ...
This life is a hospital where every patient is possessed with the desire to change beds; one man would like ...
Reubens, river of forgetfulness, garden of sloth,Pillow of wet flesh that one cannot love,But where life throngs and seethes without ...
Have patience, O my sorrow, and be still.You asked for night: it falls: it is here.A shadowy atmosphere enshrouds the ...
? Maxime du CampIFor the child, in love with globe, and stamps,the universe equals his vast appetite.Ah! How great the ...
Souvent, pour s'amuser, les hommes d'?quipagePrennent des albatros, vastes oiseaux des mers,Qui suivent, indolents compagnons de voyage,Le navire glissant sur ...
At last! I am alone! Nothing can be heard but the rumbling of a few belated and weary cabs. For ...
It is not given to every man to take a bath of multitude; enjoying a crowd is an art; and ...
Here's the criminal's friend, delightful evening:come like an accomplice, with a wolf's loping:slowly the sky's vast vault hides each feature,and ...
Reveille was sounding on barrack-squares,and the wind of dawn blew on lighted stairs.It was the hour when a swarm of ...
Through the streets where at windows of old housesthe persian blinds hide secret luxuries,when the cruel sun strikes with redoubled ...
? NadarDo you know, as I do, delicious sadnessand make others say of you: 'Strange man!'- I was dying. In ...
O SWARMING city, city full of dreams, Where in a full day the spectre walks and speaks; Mighty colossus, in ...
AN we suppress the old Remorse Who bends our heart beneath his stroke, Who feeds, as worms feed on the ...
WHERE'ER he be, on water or on land, Under pale suns or climes that flames enfold; One of Christ's own, ...
ANDROMACHE, I think of you! The stream, The poor, sad mirror where in bygone days Shone all the majesty of ...
WHEN with closed eyes in autumn's eves of gold I breathe the burning odours of your breast, Before my eyes ...
The prophetic tribe of the ardent eyes Yesterday they took the road, holding their babies On their backs, delivering to ...
Reubens, river of forgetfulness, garden of sloth, Pillow of wet flesh that one cannot love, But where life throngs and ...
I love the naked ages long ago When statues were gilded by Apollo, When men and women of agility Could ...
Nature is a temple where the living pillars Let go sometimes a blurred speech- A Forest of symbols passes through ...
© 2020 Inspirational Stories