Poetic Space ||| About |||| Guestbook |||| Etherealism Literary Journal |||| Library ||| The Poet as Flourishing
Forums ||| Chat Rooms ||| The Wanderlust Poets Society ||| Links ||| Contact ||| Stores
Charles Baudelaire
Poetry ||| Letters |||| Portraits |||| Biography |||| Astrology Chart |||| Books ||| Links

The Corpse (Une charogne)
by Charles Baudelaire (1857); translated by F.P. Sturm (1906).

Remember, my Beloved, what thing we met
By the roadside on that sweet summer day;
There on a grassy couch with pebbles set,
A loathsome body lay.

The wanton limbs stiff-stretched into the air,
Steaming with exhalations vile and dank,
In ruthless cynic fashion had laid bare
The swollen side and flank.

On this decay the sun shone hot from heaven
As though with chemic heat to broil and burn,
And unto Nature all that she had given,
A hundredfold return.

The sky smiled down upon the horror there
As on a flower that opens to the day;
So awful an infection smote the air,
Almost you swooned away.

The swarming flies hummed on the putrid side,
Whence poured the maggots in a darkling stream,
That ran along these tatters of life's pride
With a liquescent gleam.

And like a wave the maggots rose and fell,
The murmuring flies swirled round in busy strife:
It seemed as though a vague breath came to swell
And multiply with life

The hideous corpse. From all this living world
A music as of wind and water ran,
Or as of grain in rhythmic motion swirled
By the swift winnower's fan.

And then the vague forms like a dream died out,
Or like some distant scene that slowly falls
Upon the artist's canvas, that with doubt
He only half recalls.

A homeless dog behind the boulders lay
And watched us both with angry eyes forlorn,
Waiting a chance to come and take away
The morsel she had torn.

. . . . . . .

And you, even you, will be like this drear thing,
A vile infection man may not endure;
Star that I yearn to! Sun that lights my spring!
passionate and pure!

Yes, such will you be, Queen of every grace!
When the last sacramental words are said;
And beneath grass and flowers that lovely face
Moulders among the dead.

Then, O Belovèd, whisper to the worm
That crawls up to devour you with a kiss,
That I still guard in memory the dear form
Of love that comes to this!

PAGE 3 OF 3.

• • • • •Dearest Décadent, to read the first page of this series,
kindly click on the link at the very bottom of this page.
• • • • •

• • • •To read poems by Other Horrible Workers (poets
in today's day and age), kindly click HERE.
• • • •

Bookmark and Share

Information for How to Cite this Webpage:

AUTHOR: Charles Baudelaire (1857); translated by F.P. Sturm (1906).
TITLE OF WEBPAGE: PoeticSpace:Baudelaire:Poems:Unecharogne:Page3
TITLE OF WEBSITE: Poetic SpacePUBLISHER: Lannie Brockstein

• • •Websites that provide examples or that generate citation for essays
in the styles of AMA, MLA, Chicago, Turabian, and more:
Study Guides and Strategies
Son of Citation Machinewikihow: How to Cite a Website• • •

• • •Permanently archive this page as it appears to you today,
for future academic reference, with WebCite.
• • •

• • • • • To read the first page of this series, please click HERE.• • • • •
• • • • •To return to the previous Table of Contents page, please click HERE.• • • • •
• • • •You are invited to discuss Charles Baudelaire in our FORUMS!• • • •

Bookmark and Share

Poetic Space

All Rights Reserved.