Explore "The Gifts of the Moon" by Charles Pierre Baudelaire on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The Moon, who is caprice itself, looked in at the window as you slept in / your cradle, and said to herself: "I am well pleased with this child."
And she softly descended her stairway of clouds and passed through the / window-pane without noise. She bent over you with the supple tenderness / of a mother and laid her colours upon your face. Therefrom your eyes / have remained green and your cheeks extraordinarily pale. From / contemplation of your visitor your eyes are so strangely wide; and she / so tenderly wounded you upon the breast that you have ever kept a / certain readiness to tears.