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Here comes charming evening, friend of the criminal;
It comes like an accomplice, with a wolf’s tread; the sky
Closes slowly like a great alcove,
And impatient man turns into a wild beast.
O evening, amiable evening, desired by him
Whose arms, without lying, can say: Today
We have worked! – It is evening that relieves
The minds devoured by a savage sorrow,
The obstinate scholar whose brow grows heavy,
And the bent worker who returns to his bed.
Meanwhile unhealthy demons in the atmosphere
Awaken heavily, like men of affairs,
And strike in flight the shutters and the awning.
Through the glimmers tormented by the wind
Prostitution lights up in the streets;
Like an anthill it opens its outlets;
Everywhere it clears an occult path,
Like the enemy who attempts a surprise attack;
It stirs in the heart of the city of mire
Like a worm that steals from man what he eats.
One hears here and there the kitchens whistling,
The theaters yelping, the orchestras snoring;
The boarding tables, whose gambling is the delight,
Fill with trollops and swindlers, their accomplices,
And the thieves, who have neither truce nor mercy,
Will soon begin their work, they too,
And gently force the doors and the cash boxes
To live a few days and clothe their mistresses.
Collect yourself, my soul, in this grave moment,
And close your ear to this roaring.
It is the hour when the sorrows of the sick turn bitter!
Dark Night takes them by the throat; they finish
Their destiny and go toward the common abyss;
The hospital fills with their sighs. – More than one
Will no longer come to seek the fragrant soup,
By the fire, in the evening, beside a beloved soul.
Yet most of them have never known
The sweetness of home and have never lived!
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-evening-twilight-charles-baudelaire/