SONNET OF AUTUMN - by Charles Baudelaire

SONNET OF AUTUMN by Charles Baudelaire They say to me, your clear and crystal eyes: "Why don't you love me so, strange lover me?" Be sweet, be still! My heart and soul despise All save that ancient brute-like faith of thine; And will not bare the secret of their shame To thee whose hand soothes me to long slumbers, Nor their black legend write for thee in flame! Passion I hate, the spirit does me wrong. Let us love you gently. Love, from his retreat, Ambushed and shadowy, bends his fatal bow, And I too know his ancient arrows know: Crime, horror, folly. The pale daisy, Thou art as I, a bright sun fall low, O my so white, my so cold Marguerite.