The Tomb Of Charles Baudelaire

The buried temple shows by the sewer-mouth’s
Sepulchral slobber of mud and rubies,
Some abominable statue of Anubis,
The muzzle lit like a ferocious snout

Or as when a dubious wick twists in the new gas,
Having, we know, to wipe out insults suffered
Haggardly kindling an immortal pubis,
Whose flight strays according to the lamp

What votive leaves, dried in cities without evening
Could bless, as she can, vainly sitting
Against the marble of Baudelaire

Shudderingly absent from the veil that clothes her
She, his shade, a protective poisonous air
Always to be breathed, although we die of her.

by Stéphane Mallarmé

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