Charles Baudelaire

(9 April 1821 – 31 August 1867 / Paris)

Charles Baudelaire Poems

121. Bohémiens En Voyage (Gypsies On The Road) 3/31/2010
122. Beowulf 3/31/2010
123. Even When She Walks 3/31/2010
124. Far Away From Here 3/31/2010
125. À Une Dame Créole (To A Creole Lady) 3/31/2010
126. L'Héautontimorouménos (The Man Who Tortures Himself) 3/31/2010
127. Bertha’s Eyes 3/31/2010
128. Voyage To Cythera 1/20/2003
129. Le Gout Du Néant 1/1/2004
130. The Bad Monk 1/13/2003
131. Overcast 1/1/2004
132. Spleen (Iv) 1/13/2003
133. Une Charogne 1/13/2003
134. Travelling Bohemians 1/13/2003
135. One O'Clock In The Morning 1/1/2004
136. My Earlier Life 1/13/2003
137. Ill-Starred 1/13/2003
138. Alchimie De La Douleur (The Alchemy Of Sorrow) 3/31/2010
139. Calm 3/31/2010
140. The Blessing 1/3/2003
141. The Living Torch 1/3/2003
142. Spleen 1/20/2003
143. The Possessed 1/3/2003
144. Music 3/31/2010
145. The End Of The Day 1/3/2003
146. For Madame Sabatier 1/21/2003
147. L'Invitation Au Voyage 1/13/2003
148. The Balcony 1/21/2003
149. De Profundis Clamavi 1/3/2003
150. The Enemy 1/13/2003
151. The Sick Muse 1/13/2003
152. Sorrows Of The Moon 1/3/2003
153. The Fountain Of Blood 1/20/2003
154. Elevation 1/13/2003
155. Evening Harmony 1/3/2003
156. Composure 1/3/2003
157. Invitation To The Voyage 1/3/2003
158. The Albatross 1/3/2003
159. Crowds 1/1/2004
160. The Vampire 1/3/2003

Comments about Charles Baudelaire

  • 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.

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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.

  • Fabrizio Frosini Fabrizio Frosini (6/9/2016 1:03:00 PM)

    '' Who among us has not dreamt, in moments of ambition, of the miracle of a poetic prose, musical without rhythm and rhyme, supple and staccato enough to adapt to the lyrical stirrings of the soul, the undulations of dreams, and sudden leaps of consciousness. This obsessive idea is above all a child of giant cities, of the intersecting of their myriad relations. ''

    (from:  Dedication of 'Le Spleen de Paris' *

    * also known as 'Paris Spleen' or 'Petits Poèmes en prose'

  • Fabrizio Frosini Fabrizio Frosini (6/9/2016 1:02:00 PM)

    '' Who among us has not dreamt, in moments of ambition, of the miracle of a poetic prose, musical without rhythm and rhyme, supple and staccato enough to adapt to the lyrical stirrings of the soul, the undulations of dreams, and sudden leaps of consciousness. This obsessive idea is above all a child of giant cities, of the intersecting of their myriad relations. ''

    (from:  Dedication of 'Le Spleen de Paris' *

    * also known as 'Paris Spleen' or 'Petits Poèmes en prose'

  • Shobana Gomes Shobana Gomes (4/28/2014 5:54:00 AM)

    His poems tread on the catchy-ness of his phrases. Love it.

  • Lucianne Fasolo (9/26/2007 8:54:00 AM)

    Ah, Baudelaire. The forefather of modern poetry, and also of the French Symbolism. He had a unique style, his poems were flawless and beautiful. And he's one of my favorite poets ever, :)

  • ari anna arena (1/17/2007 1:30:00 AM)

    Why no 'Le Balcon'? A bella poesia.

  • Geneva Henderson (1/30/2006 12:53:00 PM)

    This is one of those cool poems. It makes you think. Personally I love Baudelaire. He has a beautiful rythem and sound that enchants me and inspires me.

Best Poem of Charles Baudelaire

Be Drunk

You have to be always drunk. That's all there is to it--it's the
only way. So as not to feel the horrible burden of time that breaks
your back and bends you to the earth, you have to be continually
drunk.
But on what?Wine, poetry or virtue, as you wish. But be
drunk.
And if sometimes, on the steps of a palace or the green grass of
a ditch, in the mournful solitude of your room, you wake again,
drunkenness already diminishing or gone, ask the wind, the wave,
the star, the bird, the clock, everything that is flying, everything
that is groaning, everything ...

Read the full of Be Drunk

Lethe

Come to my heart, cruel, insensible one,
Adored tiger, monster with the indolent air;
I would for a long time plunge my trembling fingers
Into the heavy tresses of your hair;

And in your garments that exhale your perfume
I would bury my aching head,
And breathe, like a withered flower,
The sweet, stale reek of my love that is dead.

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