by: Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867)
- h, when thou shalt slumber, my darkling love,
- Beneath a black marble-made statuette,
- And when thou'lt have nought for thy house or alcove,
- But a cavernous den and a damp oubliette.
- When the tomb-stone, oppressing thy timorous breast,
- And thy hips drooping sweetly with listless decay,
- The pulse and desires of mine heart shall arrest,
- And thy feet from pursuing their adventurous way,
- Then the grave, that dark friend of my limitless dreams
- (For the grave ever readeth the poet aright),
- Amid those long nights, which no slumber redeems
- 'Twill query"What use to thee, incomplete spright
- That thou ne'er hast unfathomed the tears of the dead"?
- Then the worms will gnaw deep at thy body, like Dread.
MORE POEMS BY CHARLES BAUDELAIRE
|"Posthumous Remorse" is reprinted from The Flowers of Evil. Charles Baudelaire. London: Elkin Mathews, 1909.