The Poetry Corner

Congenial Horror

By Charles Baudelaire

From this bizarre and livid sky Tormented by your destiny, Into your vacant spirit fly What tho~ghts? respond, you libertine. Voracious in my appetite For the uncertain and unknown, I do not whine for paradise As Ovid did, expelled from Rome. Skies tom apart like wind-swept sands, You are the mirrors of my pride; Your mourning clouds, so black and wide, Are hearses that my dreams command, And you reflect in flashing light The Hell in which my heart delights.