Explore "The Death of the Poor" by Charles Pierre Baudelaire on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Death is consoler and Death brings to life; / The end of all, the solitary hope; / We, drunk with Death's elixir, face the strife, / Take heart, and mount till eve the weary slope.
Across the storm, the hoar-frost, and the snow, / Death on our dark horizon pulses clear; / Death is the famous hostel we all know, / Where we may rest and sleep and have good cheer.
Death is an angel whose magnetic palms / Bring dreams of ecstasy and slumberous calms / To smooth the beds of naked men and poor.
Death is the mystic granary of God; / The poor man's purse; his fatherland of yore; / The Gate that opens into heavens un trod!