My youth was nothing but a black storm <br />Crossed now and then by brilliant suns. <br />The thunder and the rain so ravage the shores <br />Nothing's left of the fruit my garden held once. <br /> <br />I should employ the rake and the plow, <br />Having reached the autumn of ideas, <br />To restore this inundated ground <br />Where the deep grooves of water form tombs in the lees. <br /> <br />And who knows if the new flowers you dreamed <br />Will find in a soil stripped and cleaned <br />The mystic nourishment that fortifies? <br /> <br />—O Sorrow—O Sorrow—Time consumes Life, <br />And the obscure enemy that gnaws at my heart <br />Uses the blood that I lose to play my part. <br /> <br /> <br />Translated by William A. Sigler <br /> <br /> <br />Submitted by Ryan McGuire<br /><br />Charles Baudelaire<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-enemy/
