Soon we will plunge ourselves into cold shadows,
And all of summer's stunning afternoons will be gone.
I already hear the dead thuds of logs below
Falling on the cobblestones and the lawn.
All of winter will return to me:
derision, Hate, shuddering, horror, drudgery and vice,
And exiled, like the sun, to a polar prison,
My soul will harden into a block of red ice.
I shiver as I listen to each log crash and slam:
The echoes are as dull as executioners' drums.
My mind is like a tower that slowly succumbs
To the blows of a relentless battering ram.
It seems to me, swaying to these shocks, that someone
Is nailing down a coffin in a hurry somewhere.
For whom? -- It was summer yesterday; now it's autumn.
Echoes of departure keep resounding in the air.
Charles Baudelaire's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Autumn by Charles Baudelaire )
- ' गुरुगान यशगान ', Rahul Vyas
- Silence, Tshering Chekii
- 'तस्वीर', Rahul Vyas
- दंङ आंहा कलम गंसे, Ronjoy Brahma
- Men are sexually cruel., Rm.Shanmugam Chettiar.
- Decrepit, Adam Ruudiina
- NEELA NATH Opulent Poetess Extraordinair.., Mr. Nobody Nothing
- Not with tears, hasmukh amathalal
- Laziness, dr.k.g.balakrishnan kandangath
- Dreams or Dust?, Adam Ruudiina
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