e me so, strange lover mine?'
Be sweet, be still! My heart and soul despise
All save that antique brute-like faith of thine;
And will not bare the secret of their shame
To thee whose hand soothes me to slumbers long,
Nor their black legend write for thee in flame!
Passion I hate, a spirit does me wrong.
Let us love gently. Love, from his retreat,
Ambushed and shadowy, bends his fatal bow,
And I too well his ancient arrows know:
Crime, horror, folly. O pale marguerite,
Thou art as I, a bright sun fallen low,
O my so white, my so cold Marguerite.
Sonnet Of Autumn
Charles Baudelaire
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Poem topics: faith, hate, heart, passion, sun, soul, sweet, white, long, write, bright, cold, spirit, wrong, ancient, flame, secret, black, shame, strange, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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