Explore "The Flowers of Evil" by Charles Pierre Baudelaire on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I am lovely, O mortals, like a dream of stone, / And my bosom, where each one gets bruised in turn, / To inspire the love of a poet is prone, / Like matter eternally silent and stern.
As an unfathomed sphinx, enthroned by the Nile, / My heart a swan's whiteness with granite combines, / And I hate every movement, displacing the lines, / And never I weep and never I smile.