<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=354459" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Landscape</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">In order to write my chaste verses I’ll lie<br>like an astrologer near to the sky<br>and, by the bell-towers, listen in dream<br>to their solemn hymns on the air-stream.<br>Hands on chin, from my attic’s height<br>I’ll see the workshops of song and light,<br>the gutters, the belfries those masts of the city,<br>the vast skies that yield dreams of eternity<br>It is sweet to see stars being born in the blue,<br>through the mists, the lamps at the windows, too,<br>the rivers of smoke climbing the firmament,<br>and the moon pouring out her pale enchantment.<br>I’ll see the springs, summers, autumns’ glow,<br>and when winter brings the monotonous snow<br>I’ll close all my doors and shutters tight<br>and build palaces of faery in the night.<br>Then I’ll dream of blue-wet horizons,<br>weeping fountains of alabaster, gardens,<br>kisses, birdsong at morning or twilight,<br>all in the Idyll that is most childlike.<br>The mob that are beating in vain on the glass,<br>won’t make me raise my head as they pass.<br>Since I’ll be plunged deep in the thrill<br>of evoking the springtime through my own will,<br>raising the sun out of my own heart,<br>making sweet air from my burning thought.</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=354459" data-title="Landscape de Charles Baudelaire" data-description="In order to write my chaste verses I’ll lie like an astrologer near to the sky and, by the bell-towers, listen in dream to their solemn hymns on the air-stream. Hands on chin, from my attic’s height I’ll see the workshops of song and light, ..."></div> </div> </div>

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