The Poets

April 09, 2012

A Charles Baudelaire Poem: The Owls

The Owls

Under 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.

Charles Baudelaire


BerlinerinPoet said...

WOW! This is awesome. I have to admit I've never read Baudelaire, but I certainly will now.

John W. May said...

He's pretty dark at times, but the truth is his talent is iconic- I so know you'll like him as a poet!

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