Explore "La Beatrice" by Charles Pierre Baudelaire on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
In a burnt, ashen land, where no herb grew, / I to the winds my cries of anguish threw; / And in my thoughts, in that sad place apart, / Pricked gently with the poignard o'er my heart. / Then in full noon above my head a cloud / Descended tempest-swollen, and a crowd / Of wild, lascivious spirits huddled there, / The cruel and curious demons of the air, / Who coldly to consider me began; / Then, as a crowd jeers some unhappy man, / Exchanging gestures, winking with their eyes -- / I heard a laughing and a whispering rise:
"Let us at leisure contemplate this clown, / This shadow of Hamlet aping Hamlet's frown, / With wandering eyes and hair upon the wind. / Is't not a pity that this empty mind, / This tramp, this actor out of work, this droll, / Because he knows how to assume a role / Should dream that eagles and insects, streams and woods, / Stand still to hear him chaunt his dolorous moods?