The Ideal
It will not be these beauties of vignettes, Poor products of a worthless century, Feet in half-boots, fingers in castanets, Who satisfy the yearning heart in me. That poet of chlorosis, Gavarni, Can keep his twittering troupe of sickly queens, Since these pale roses do not let me see My red ideal, the tlower of my dreams. I need a heart abyssal in its depth, A soul confirmed in crime, Lady Macbeth, Aeschylus' dream, storm-born out of the south, Or you, great Night of Michelangelo's, Who calmly twist in an exotic pose Those charms he fashioned for a Titan's mouth.
AI analysis available. Enable JavaScript to interact.
About this line
"It will not be these beauties of vignettes,..."
Exploring the themes of classic, Charles Baudelaire delivers a powerful performance in "The Ideal"... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...