Have patience, O my sorrow, and be still.
You asked for night: it falls: it is here.
A shadowy atmosphere enshrouds the hill,
to some men bringing peace, to others care.
While the vile human multitude
goes to earn remorse, in servile pleasure’s play,
under the lash of joy, the torturer, who
is pitiless, Sadness, come, far away:
Give me your hand. See, where the lost years
lean from the balcony in their outdated gear,
where regret, smiling, surges from the watery deeps.
Underneath some archway, the dying light
sleeps, and, like a long shroud trailing from the East,
listen, dear one, listen to the soft onset of night.
5 Stars excellent choice as the Modern Poem Of The Day.
A brilliant poem by the famous Beaudelaire about great sadness and greatest grief about what had passed, above all sadness. Crystal clear in his words, but very dark poem
Shadowy atmosphere enshrouds the hill Thanks for sharing it here.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A deeply poignant poem embellished with compelling images. So beautifully expressed.