Thus you do wander, uncomplaining Stoics,
Through all the chaos of the living town:
Mothers with bleeding hearts, saints, courtesans,
Whose names of yore were on the lips of all;
Who were all glory and all grace, and now
None know you; and the brutish stops,
Insulting you with his derisive love;
And cowardly urchins call behind your back.
Through all the chaos of the living town:
Mothers with bleeding hearts, saints, courtesans,
Whose names of yore were on the lips of all;
Who were all glory and all grace, and now
None know you; and the brutish stops,
Insulting you with his derisive love;
And cowardly urchins call behind your back.
Baudelaire - Poems and Prose Poems
