The poet is a kinsman in the clouds
Who scoffs at archers, loves a stormy day;
But on the ground, among the hooting crowds,
He cannot walk, his wings are in the way.
-Charles Baudelaire, poet, critic, and translator (1821-1867)
Who scoffs at archers, loves a stormy day;
But on the ground, among the hooting crowds,
He cannot walk, his wings are in the way.
-Charles Baudelaire, poet, critic, and translator (1821-1867)
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