<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=354455" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>La servante au grand coeur dont vous étiez jalouse (The Great-Hearted Servant of whom you were Jealous)</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The great-hearted servant of whom you were jealous,<br>sleeping her sleep in the humble grass,<br>shouldn't we take her a few flowers? <br>The dead, the poor dead, have griefs like ours,<br>and when October sighs, clipper of trees,<br>round their marble tombs, with its mournful breeze,<br>they must find the living, ungratefully, wed,<br>snug in sleep, to the warmth of their bed,<br>while they, devoured by dark reflection,<br>without bedfellow, or sweet conversation,<br>old skeletons riddled with worms, deep frozen,<br>feel the winter snows trickling round them,<br>and the years flow by without kin or friend<br>to replace the wreaths at their railing's end.<br>If some night, when the logs whistle and flare,<br>seeing her sitting calm, in that chair,<br>if on a December night, cold and blue,<br>I might find her there placed in the room,<br>solemn, and come from her bed, eternal,<br>to guard the grown child with her eye, maternal,<br>what could I answer that pious spirit,<br>seeing tears under her hollow eyelid?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Charles+Baudelaire">Charles Baudelaire</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=354455" data-title="La servante au grand coeur dont vous étiez jalouse (The Great-Hearted Servant of whom you were Jealous)" data-description="The great-hearted servant of whom you were jealous, sleeping her sleep in the humble grass, shouldn't we take her a few flowers? The dead, the poor dead, have griefs like ours, and when October sighs, clipper of trees, round their marble tombs, w..."></div> </div> </div>

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