The Owls - (Twelve Translations From Charles Baudelaire)
'Neath their black yews in solemn state The owls are sitting in a row Like foreign gods; and even so Blink their red eyes; they meditate. Quite motionless they hold them thus Until at last the day is done, And driving down the slanting sun, The sad night is victorious. They teach the wise who gives them ear That in this world he most should fear All things which loud or restless be. Who, dazzled by a passing shade, Follows it, never will be free Till the dread penalty be paid.
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"'Neath their black yews in solemn state..."
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