The Bad Monk

Poem by Charles Baudelaire Collection The Flowers of EvilThemes ReligionPeriod 19th century

The ancient cloisters on their great walls
Displayed in paintings the holy Truth,
Whose effect, warming the pious entrails,
Tempered the coldness of their austerity.

In those times when Christ’s sowing flourished,
More than one illustrious monk, today little cited,
Taking as his workshop the field of funerals,
Glorified Death with simplicity.

— My soul is a tomb that, wicked cenobite,
Since eternity I travel through and inhabit;
Nothing embellishes the walls of this hateful cloister.

O idle monk! when shall I therefore make
Of the living spectacle of my sad misery
The work of my hands and the love of my eyes?

Charles Baudelaire

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