The Sadness Of The Moon - (Twelve Translations From Charles Baudelaire)
This evening the Moon dreams more languidly, Like a beauty who on mounded cushions rests, And with her light hand fondles lingeringly, Before she sleeps, the slope of her sweet breasts. On her soft satined avalanches' height Dying, she laps herself for hours and hours In long, long swoons, and gazes at the white Visions which rise athwart the blue like flowers. When sometimes in her perfect indolence She lets a furtive tear steal gently thence, Some pious poet, a lone, sleepless one, Takes in his hollowed hand this gem, shot through, Like an opal stone, with gleams of every hue, And in his heart's depths hides it from the sun.
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"This evening the Moon dreams more languidly,..."
This evocative piece by John Collings Squire, Sir, titled "The Sadness Of The Moon - (Twelve Translations From Charles Baudelaire)", represents a masterful exploration of classic. The lines capture a profound emotional resonance... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...