Explore "The Flowers of Evil" by Charles Pierre Baudelaire on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The sun is enveloped in crape! like it, / O Moon of my Life! wrap thyself up in shade; / At will, smoke or slumber, be silent, be staid, / And dive deep down in Dispassion's dark pit.
I cherish thee thus! But if 'tis thy mood, / Like a star that from out its penumbra appears, / To float in the regions where madness careers, / Fair dagger! burst forth from thy sheath! 'tis good.