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Re: أزهار الشـــــــــــــر Les Fleurs du Mal (Re: sentimental)
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The Sonnet of Autumn
They say to me, thy clear and crystal eyes : "Why dost thou love me so, strange lover mine?" --Be sweet, be Still! My heart and soul despise All save that antique brute-like faith of thine;
And will not bare the secret of their shame To thee whose hand soothes me to slumbers long, Nor their black legend written out in flame! Passion I hate, and spirit does me wrong.
Let us love gently. Love, from his retreat, Ambushed and shadowy, bends his fatal bow, And I too well his ancient arrows know:
Crime, horror, folly. O pale Marguerite, Thou art as I, an autumn sun brought low, O my so white, my so cold Marguerite.
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