A hundred times already the sun had leaped, radiant or saddened, from
the immense cup of the sea whose rim could scarcely be seen; a hundred
times it had again sunk, or morose, into its mighty bath of
twilight.
the immense cup of the sea whose rim could scarcely be seen; a hundred
times it had again sunk, or morose, into its mighty bath of
twilight.
Baudelaire - Poems and Prose Poems
