Charles Baudelaire

(9 April 1821 – 31 August 1867 / Paris)

Autumn - Poem by Charles Baudelaire

Soon we will plunge ourselves into cold shadows,
And all of summer's stunning afternoons will be gone.
I already hear the dead thuds of logs below
Falling on the cobblestones and the lawn.

All of winter will return to me:
derision, Hate, shuddering, horror, drudgery and vice,
And exiled, like the sun, to a polar prison,
My soul will harden into a block of red ice.

I shiver as I listen to each log crash and slam:
The echoes are as dull as executioners' drums.
My mind is like a tower that slowly succumbs
To the blows of a relentless battering ram.

It seems to me, swaying to these shocks, that someone
Is nailing down a coffin in a hurry somewhere.
For whom? -- It was summer yesterday; now it's autumn.
Echoes of departure keep resounding in the air.


Comments about Autumn by Charles Baudelaire

  • Rookie Ms Acras (8/11/2009 2:46:00 AM)

    I think Autumn must have been on of my ex-boyfriends. (Report) Reply

    4 person liked.
    5 person did not like.
  • Rookie Megan Fabry (10/20/2004 2:13:00 AM)

    Charles is an amazing poet...he brings you to the place where you fear the most..truth (Report) Reply

Read all 2 comments »



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Read poems about / on: summer, autumn, hate, winter, red, sun



Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003



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