The Fountain Of Blood
Sometimes it seems my blood spurts out in gobs As if it were a fountain's pulsing sobs; I clearly hear it mutter as it goes, Yet cannot find the wound from which it flows. Then through the city, coursing in the lists, It travels, forming islands in its midst, Seeing that every creature will be fed And staining nature its flamboyant red. Oh, I have asked of wine the magic way To drug my terrors, even for a day; Wine clears the eye, makes hearing more distinct! I've sought forgetfulness in love, but failed, Since love for me is just a bed of nails Made to provide these women bloody drink!
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"Sometimes it seems my blood spurts out in gobs..."
Exploring the themes of classic, Charles Baudelaire delivers a powerful performance in "The Fountain Of Blood"... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...