Baudelaire: His Prose and Poetry
img img Baudelaire: His Prose and Poetry img Chapter 16 No.16
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Chapter 16 No.16

And now no sacred staff shall break in blossom,

No choral salutation lure to light

A spirit with perfume and sweet night

And love's tired eyes and hands and barren bosom.

There is no help for these things; none to mend,

And none to mar; not all our songs, O friend,

Will make death clear or make life durable.

Howbeit with rose a

            
            

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