Are they blue, gray or green?
Mysterious eyes (as if in fact you were looking through a mist) in alternation tender, dreamy, grim to match the shiftless pallor of the sky.
That's what you're like- these warm white afternoons which make the ravished heart dissolve in tears, the nerves, inexplicably overwrought, outrage the dozing mind.
Not always, though-sometimes you're like the horizon when the sun ignites our cloudy autumn-how you glow!
A sodden countryside in sudden rout, turned incandescent by a changing wind.
Dangerous woman-demoralizing days!
Will I adore your killing frost as much, and in that implacable winter, when it comes, discover pleasures sharper than iron and ice?
The collection entitled Les Fleurs du Mal (flowers of evil) is considered one of the most important and influantial poetry publications of the nineteenth century.
This is a poem from that collection
