Here you will find the Poem The Death Of The Poor of poet Charles Baudelaire
It is Death, alas, persuades us to keep on living: the goal of life and the only hope we have, like an elixir, rousing, intoxicating, giving the strength to march on towards the grave: through the frost and snow and storm-wind, look it?s the vibrant light on our black horizon: the fabulous inn, written of in the book, where one can eat, and sleep and sit oneself down: it?s an Angel, who holds in his magnetic beams, sleep and the gift of ecstatic dreams, who makes the bed where the poor and naked lie: it?s the glory of the Gods, the mystic granary, it?s the poor man?s purse, his ancient country, it?s the doorway opening on an unknown sky!
