Dawn of the Spirit
by Charles Baudelaire
When with revelers the white crimson dawn
Comes to join the persistent Ideal,
Through the operation of an avenging mystery
An angel is awakened in the sated brute.
The inaccessible blue of Spiritual Skies,
For the crushed man who still dreams and suffers,
Opens and sinks down with the attraction of the abyss.
Thus, dear Goddess, lucid pure Being,
Over the smoky wrecks of stupid orgies
Your memory more clear, roseate, and charming,
Ceaselessly hovers before my wide-opened eyes.
The sun has darkened the flame of the candles;
Thus, always conquering, your phantom is like
The immortal sun, O soul of splendor!