Charles Baudelaire

(9 April 1821 – 31 August 1867 / Paris)

Charles Baudelaire
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Charles Baudelaire poems, quotations and biography on Charles Baudelaire poet page. Read all poems of Charles Baudelaire and infos about Charles Baudelaire.

Charles Pierre Baudelaire was a French poet who produced notable work as an essayist, art critic, and pioneering translator of Edgar Allan Poe. His most famous work, Les Fleurs du mal (The Flowers of Evil), expresses the changing nature of beauty in modern, industrializing Paris during the 19th century. Baudelaire's highly original style of prose-poetry influenced a whole generation of poets including Paul Verlaine, Arthur Rimbaud and Stéphane Mallarmé among many others. He is credited with coining the term "modernity" (modernité) to designate the fleeting, ephemeral experience of life in an urban metropolis, and the responsibility art has to capture that ... more »

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Charles Baudelaire Quotations

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  • ''What is exhilarating in bad taste is the aristocratic pleasure of giving offense.''
    Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867), French poet. Squibs, Intimate Journals, sct. 18 (1887), trans. by Christopher Isherwood (1930), rev. Don Bachardy (198...
    68 person liked.
    26 person did not like.
  • ''Hugo, like a priest, always has his head bowed—bowed so low that he can see nothing except his own navel.''
    Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867), French poet. "Squibs," sect. 22, Intimate Journals (1887), trans. by Christopher Isherwood (1930), revised by Don Bach...
    24 person liked.
    12 person did not like.
  • ''It is the hour to be drunken! To escape being the martyred slaves of time, be ceaselessly drunk. On wine, on poetry, or on virtue, as you wish.''
    Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867), French poet. Complete Works, vol. 1, "Shorter Prose Poems," ed. Yves-Gérard le Dantec; rev. Claude Pichois (1953). Eni...
    52 person liked.
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  • ''We all have the republican spirit in our veins, like syphilis in our bones. We are democratized and venerealized.''
    Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867), French poet. Sur la Belgique, epilogue, Complete Works, vol. 2, ed. Yves-Gérard le Dantec, rev. by Claude Pichois (197...
    24 person liked.
    14 person did not like.
  • ''Whether you come from heaven or hell, what does it matter, O Beauty!''
    Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867), French. Flowers of Evil, "Hymn to Beauty," (1860).
    35 person liked.
    16 person did not like.
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    𝐈 𝐦 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 18-𝐤 𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞. 𝐈 𝐤𝐞𝐩𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐈 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐭. 𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐥, 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞..

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  • Heather Marie Mortimer (10/1/2019 8:53:00 PM)

    Sadly, I do not see any of my favorite versions of my favorite poet posted here, from:
    'The Poems and Prose Poems of Charles Baudelaire. Ed. James Huneker. New York: Brentano's,1919'
    I would encourage Baudelaire fans to read those particular translations as well! And I hope this is remedied here in the future.

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  • bellyvankelly (10/27/2018 3:42:00 PM)

    les fleur du mal- -dam near flawless- depending on which translation u get

    rest in poetry my gentle fellow mad poet

    i heart u (an it would b ah black heart, u know dat...)

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  • Ray Burleigh (5/2/2018 9:22:00 AM)

    Dear poem hunter creators. My long overdue message to you. Wow. Great gaudy generous gratitude. Finding
    Baudelaire reminded me of all the thanks you deserve for this website. Bless you all. I turn to you so often for
    Respite and hope.

    1 person liked.
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  • A disinterested bystander (11/24/2017 1:15:00 PM)

    Baudelaire's great talent I suppose was distilling sour grapes into eloquence.

    1 person liked.
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Best Poem of 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 ...

Read the full of Autumn