Explore "Sonnet of Autumn" by Charles Pierre Baudelaire on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
They say to me, thy clear and crystal eyes: / "Why dost thou love me so, strange lover mine? " / Be sweet, be still! My heart and soul despise / All save that antique brute-like faith of thine;
And will not bare the secret of their shame / To thee whose hand soothes me to slumbers long, / Nor their black legend write for thee in flame! / Passion I hate, a spirit does me wrong.
Let us love gently. Love, from his retreat, / Ambushed and shadowy, bends his fatal bow, / And I too well his ancient arrows know:
Crime, horror, folly. O pale marguerite, / Thou art as I, a bright sun fallen low, / O my so white, my so cold Marguerite.