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November 17, 2007
28
What will you say this evening, poor solitary soul, what will you say, my heart, once-withered heart, to the most beautiful, the best, the dearest one, whose divine look has suddenly made you flower again?
We shall set our pride in singing her praises. Nothing equals the sweetness of her authority; her spiritual flesh has the scent of Angles, and her eye clothes us in a garment of light.
Be it in the night and in solitude, be it in the street and in multitude, her phantom dances in the air like a burning brand.
Sometimes it speaks and says: ‘I am beautiful, and I command that for love of me you love only the Beautiful; I am the guardian Angel, the Muse and the Madonna!’
Baudelaire
Posted by amin at November 17, 2007 5:02 PM