Explore "The Sadness of the Moon" by Charles Pierre Baudelaire on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The Moon more indolently dreams to-night / Than a fair woman on her couch at rest. / Caressing, with a hand distraught and light, / Before she sleeps, the contour of her breast.
Upon her silken avalanche of down, / Dying she breathes a long and swooning sigh; / And watches the white visions past her flown, / Which rise like blossoms to the azure sky.
And when, at times, wrapped in her languor deep, / Earthward she lets a furtive tear-drop flow, / Some pious poet, enemy of sleep,
Takes in his hollow hand the tear of snow / Whence gleams of iris and of opal start, / And hides it from the Sun, deep in his heart.