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<\/h2>\n<\/h2>\nby Charles Baudelaire<\/p>\n
Carrying bouquet, and handkerchief, and gloves,
\nProud of her height as when she lived, she moves
\nWith all the careless and high-stepping grace,
\nAnd the extravagant courtesan’s thin face.<\/p>\n
Was slimmer waist e’er in a ball-room wooed?
\nHer floating robe, in royal amplitude,
\nPalls in deep folds around a dry foot, shod
\nWith a bright flower-like shoe that gems the sod.<\/p>\n
The swarms that hum about her collar-bones
\nAs the lascivious streams caress the stones,
\nConceal from every scornful jest that flies,
\nHer gloomy beauty; and her fathomless eyes<\/p>\n
Are made of shade and void; with flowery sprays
\nHer skull is wreathed artistically, and sways,
\nFeeble and weak, on her frail vertebr\u00e6.
\nO charm of nothing decked in folly! they<\/p>\n
Who laugh and name you a Caricature,
\nThey see not, they whom flesh and blood allure,
\nThe nameless grace of every bleached, bare bone
\nThat is most dear to me, tall skeleton!<\/p>\n
Come you to trouble with your potent sneer
\nThe feast of Life! or are you driven here,
\nTo Pleasure’s Sabbath, by dead lusts that stir
\nAnd goad your moving corpse on with a spur?<\/p>\n
Or do you hope, when sing the violins,
\nAnd the pale candle-flame lights up our sins,
\nTo drive some mocking nightmare far apart,
\nAnd cool the flame hell lighted in your heart?<\/p>\n
Fathomless well of fault and foolishness!
\nEternal alembic of antique distress!
\nStill o’er the curved, white trellis of your sides
\nThe sateless, wandering serpent curls and glides.<\/p>\n
And truth to tell, I fear lest you should find,
\nAmong us here, no lover to your mind;
\nWhich of these hearts beat for the smile you gave?
\nThe charms of horror please none but the brave.<\/p>\n
Your eyes’ black gulf, where awful broodings stir,
\nBrings giddiness; the prudent reveller
\nSees, while a horror grips him from beneath,
\nThe eternal smile of thirty-two white teeth.<\/p>\n
For he who has not folded in his arms
\nA skeleton, nor fed on graveyard charms,
\nRecks not of furbelow, or paint, or scent,
\nWhen Horror comes the way that Beauty went.<\/p>\n
O irresistible, with fleshless face,
\nSay to these dancers in their dazzled race:
\n“Proud lovers with the paint above your bones,
\nYe shall taste death, musk-scented skeletons!<\/p>\n
Withered Antinous, dandies with plump faces,
\nYe varnished cadavers, and grey Lovelaces,
\nYe go to lands unknown and void of breath,
\nDrawn by the rumour of the Dance of Death.<\/p>\n
From Seine’s cold quays to Ganges’ burning stream,
\nThe mortal troupes dance onward in a dream;
\nThey do not see, within the opened sky,
\nThe Angel’s sinister trumpet raised on high.<\/p>\n
In every clime and under every sun,
\nDeath laughs at ye, mad mortals, as ye run;
\nAnd oft perfumes herself with myrrh, like ye
\nAnd mingles with your madness, irony!”<\/p>\n
Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867) was a French poet, essayist, and critic, best known for his controversial and influential collection of poems, “Les Fleurs du mal” (The Flowers of Evil). Born in Paris, Baudelaire abandoned his studies to pursue a literary career and became a central figure in the city’s bohemian scene.<\/p>\n
“Les Fleurs du mal,” published in 1857, explored themes of decadence, eroticism, and the dark aspects of the human psyche, leading to charges of obscenity against Baudelaire. Despite this, the work became a seminal piece of modernist literature.<\/p>\n
Baudelaire was also a prolific essayist and critic, writing on art, literature, and modern life. He struggled with financial difficulties, health problems, and drug addiction throughout his life.<\/p>\n
Baudelaire’s works influenced many contemporaries and subsequent literary movements, including Symbolism and Decadence. He is credited with coining the term “modernity” and is considered one of the most important and influential writers of the 19th century.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The Dance of Death by Charles Baudelaire Carrying bouquet, and handkerchief, and gloves, Proud of her height as when she lived, she moves With all the careless and high-stepping grace, And the extravagant courtesan’s thin face. Was slimmer waist e’er in a ball-room wooed? Her floating robe, in royal amplitude, Palls in deep folds around…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_uf_show_specific_survey":0,"_uf_disable_surveys":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[659,418],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-65830","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-charles-baudelaire","category-halloween-poems"],"aioseo_notices":[],"aioseo_head":"\n\t\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t