The Blind, Poem by Charles Baudelaire

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

Contemplate them, my soul; they are truly dreadful!
Like mannequins, vaguely ridiculous;
Terrible, strange as sleepwalkers,
Darting their dark orbs no one knows where.

Their eyes, from which the divine spark has departed,
As if they were gazing into the distance, remain raised
To the sky; one never sees them toward the paving stones
Lean their heavy heads dreamily.

Thus they cross the limitless black,
That brother of eternal silence. O city!
While around us you sing, laugh, and bellow,

Enamored of pleasure to the point of atrocity,
See, I drag myself along too! but, more dazed than they,
I say: What are they seeking in Heaven, all these blind ones?

Charles Baudelaire

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