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THE GHOST

 SOFTLY as brown-eyed Angels rove 
I will return to thy alcove, 
And glide upon the night to thee, 
Treading the shadows silently.
And I will give to thee, my own, Kisses as icy as the moon, And the caresses of a snake Cold gliding in the thorny brake.
And when returns the livid morn Thou shalt find all my place forlorn And chilly, till the falling night.
Others would rule by tenderness Over thy life and youthfulness, But I would conquer thee by fright!

by Charles Baudelaire
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