The Demon is forever stirring at my side;
He swims around me like impalpable air;
I swallow him and feel him burning my lungs
And filling them with an eternal and guilty desire.
Sometimes he takes, knowing my great love of Art,
The form of the most seductive of women,
And, under specious pretexts of a hypocrite,
Accustoms my lips to infamous philtres.
He leads me thus, far from the gaze of God,
Panting and broken with fatigue, into the midst
Of the plains of Ennui, deep and deserted,
And throws into my eyes full of confusion
Soiled garments, open wounds,
And the bloody apparatus of Destruction!
Charles Baudelaire
Translation generated by Poésies 123 with assistance from the deepseek-chat artificial-intelligence model.
Text published on Poésies 123: https://www.poesies123.com/en/poem-destruction-charles-baudelaire/
