Explore "The Flowers of Evil" by Charles Pierre Baudelaire on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I / Shortly we will plunge within the frigid gloom, / Farewell swift summer brightness; all too short -- / I hear already sounding with a death-like boom / The wood that falls upon the pavement of the court.
The whole of winter enters in my Being -- pain, / Hate, honor, labour hard and forced -- and dread, / And like the northern sun upon its polar plane / My heart will soon be but a stone, iced and red.