A Poem From The Year

Sun

"A Memory" by Charles Baudelaire:

All this was long ago, but I do not forget
Our small white house, between the city and the farms;
The Venus, the Pomona,–I remember yet
How in the leaves they hid their chipping plaster charms;
And the majestic sun at evening, setting late,
Behind the pane that broke and scattered his bright rays,
How like an open eye he seemed to contemplate
Our long and silent dinners with a curious gaze:
The while his golden beams, like tapers burning there,
Made splendid the serge curtains and the simple fare.

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(From Flowers of Evil by Charles Baudelaire, 1857. Translated by Edna St. Vincent Millay ©1936 by Edna St. Vincent Millay and Norma Millay Ellis. Reprinted by permission of The Permissions Company, Inc., on behalf of Holly Peppe, Literary Executor, The Millay Society. Photo by Flickr user jeremyfoo)