The Enemy
My youth was nothing but a black storm Crossed now and then by brilliant suns. The thunder and the rain so ravage the shores Nothing's left of the fruit my garden held once. I should employ the rake and the plow, Having reached the autumn of ideas, To restore this inundated ground Where the deep grooves of water form tombs in the lees. And who knows if the new flowers you dreamed Will find in a soil stripped and cleaned The mystic nourishment that fortifies? O Sorrow O Sorrow Time consumes Life, And the obscure enemy that gnaws at my heart Uses the blood that I lose to play my part.
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"My youth was nothing but a black storm..."
"The Enemy" is a quintessential example of Charles Baudelaire's signature style... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...