From the French of Charles Baudelaire
To F-N
Do you know, like me, the sorrowful savor,
And of yourself do
you say: "I am the man singular!"
— I was going to
die. It was in my soul like a lover,
Desire mixed with horror,
an evil particular;
Anguish and vivid hope, but not rebellious.
The more it
emptied, the fatal hourglass,
The rougher my torture, the more
delicious;
All my heart was torn off as the familiar world
passed.
I was like the child greedy for spectacle,
Hating the curtain
as one hates an obstacle
Finally the cold truth was delineated:
I was dead without surprise, and the terrible dawn
Enveloped
me. — Eh what! Is that all there is to go on?
The canvas was
raised and still I waited.
