by Charles Baudelaire
“Lovers of prostitutes
are happy, fresh and satisfied.
As for me, my arms are broken
for having embraced the clouds.
It is thanks to the endless stars
that flame in the depths of the sky
that my burned-out eyes see
only the suns of memory.
I tried in vain to find
the middle and the end of space;
I know not under what fiery eye
I felt my wings break…
Burned by the love of beauty,
I will not have the sublime honor
of giving my name to the abyss
that will serve as my tomb.”
from “The Flowers of Evil”