Posthumous Remorse, Poem by Charles Baudelaire

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

When you will sleep, my dark and lovely one,
Deep in a monument of black marble made,
And when you’ll have for alcove and for manor
Only a rainy vault and a hollow grave;

When the stone, oppressing your fearful breast
And your flanks made supple by a charming indolence,
Will keep your heart from beating and from willing,
And your feet from running their adventurous course,

The tomb, confidant of my infinite dream
(For the tomb will always understand the poet),
During those long nights from which sleep is banished,

Will say to you: “What serves you, imperfect courtesan,
Not to have known what the dead weep for?”
– And the worm will gnaw your skin like a remorse.

Charles Baudelaire

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