Sympathetic Horror, Poem by Charles Baudelaire

From this strange and livid sky,
Tormented like your own fate,
What thoughts descend into your empty soul?
Answer, libertine.

— Insatiably greedy
For the dark and the uncertain,
I shall not groan like Ovid
Banished from the Latin paradise.

Skies torn like shores,
In you my pride is mirrored,
Your vast clouds in mourning

Are the hearses of my dreams,
And your gleams are the reflection
Of the Hell where my heart delights.

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-sympathetic-horror-charles-baudelaire/