Page:Poems and Baudelaire Flowers.djvu/83

Rh She was quite pretty still, my wife,
 * Though she was very tired, and I,
 * I loved her too much, that is why

I said to her, “Come, quit this life.”

No one can grasp my thought aright;
 * Did any of these sodden swine
 * Ever conceive a shroud of wine

On his most strangely morbid night?

Dull and insensible above
 * Iron machines, that stupid crew,
 * Summer or winter, never knew

The agonies of real love.

So now I am without a care!
 * Dead-drunk this evening I shall be,
 * Then fearlessly, remorselessly

Shall lie out in the open air.

And sleep there like a homeless cur;
 * Some cart may rumble with a load
 * Of stones or mud along the road

And crush my head—I shall not stir.

Some heavy dray incontinent
 * May come and cut me clean in two:
 * I laugh at thought o’t as I do

At Devil, God, and Sacrament.