Explore "Contemplation" by Charles Pierre Baudelaire on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Thou, O my Grief, be wise and tranquil still, / The eve is thine which even now drops down, / To carry peace or care to human will, / And in a misty veil enfolds the town.
While the vile mortals of the multitude, / By pleasure, cruel tormentor, goaded on, / Gather remorseful blossoms in light mood -- / Grief, place thy hand in mine, let us be gone
Far from them. Lo, see how the vanished years, / In robes outworn lean over heaven's rim; / And from the water, smiling through her tears,
Remorse arises, and the sun grows dim; / And in the east, her long shroud trailing light, / List, O my grief, the gentle steps of Night.