Sepulture, Poem by Charles Baudelaire

If on a heavy and dark night
A good Christian, out of charity,
Behind some old ruin
Buries your praised body,

At the hour when the chaste stars
Close their heavy-lidded eyes,
The spider will spin its webs there,
And the viper its young;

You will hear all year long
Over your condemned head
The mournful cries of wolves

And of starving witches,
The antics of lecherous old men
And the plots of black scoundrels.

Charles Baudelaire

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