The Cracked Bell, Poem by Charles Baudelaire

Poem by Charles Baudelaire Collection The Flowers of EvilThemes SadnessPeriod 19th century

It is bitter and sweet, during the winter nights,
To listen, near the fire that flickers and smokes,
To distant memories slowly rising
At the sound of carillons singing in the mist,

Blessed is the bell with the vigorous throat
Which, despite its old age, alert and healthy,
Faithfully throws out its religious cry,
Like an old soldier keeping watch beneath the tent!

As for me, my soul is cracked, and when in its weariness
It wants to people the cold air of the nights with its songs,
It often happens that its weakened voice

Seems the thick death-rattle of a wounded man whom one forgets
At the edge of a lake of blood, under a great heap of dead,
And who dies, without moving, in immense efforts.

Charles Baudelaire

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