Man, with which to pay his ransom, <br />has two fields of deep rich earth, <br />which he must dig and bring to birth, <br />with the iron blade of reason. <br />To obtain the smallest rose, <br />to garner a few ears of wheat, <br />he must wet them without cease, <br />with briny tears from his grey brow. <br />One is Art: Love is the other. <br />- To render his propitiation, <br />on the day of conflagration, <br />when the last strict reckoning’s here, <br />full of crops’ and flowers’ displays <br />he will have to show his barns, <br />with those colours and those forms <br />that gain the Angels’ praise.<br /><br />Charles Baudelaire<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-ransom/
