Monday, March 19, 2012


Extrait de Les Fleurs du Mal, Charles Baudelaire, 1868.  Nous sommes les mortels condamn√©s.

Be good, my Sorrow: hush now: settle down. You sighed for dusk, and now it comes: look there!A denser atmosphere obscures the town, To some restoring peace, to others care.
While the lewd multitude, like hungry beasts, By pleasure scourged (no thug so fierce as he!) Go forth to seek remorse among their feasts — Come, take my hand; escape from them with me.
From balconies of sky, around us yet, Lean the dead years in fashions that have ceased. Out of the depth of waters smiles Regret.
The sun sinks moribund beneath an arch, And like a long shroud rustling from the East, Hark, Love, the gentle Night is on the march.


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