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Read more poems by Charles Baudelaire: Charles Baudelaire Poems at Poetry X.

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The Bad Monk

Charles Baudelaire

On the great walls of ancient cloisters were nailed
Murals displaying Truth the saint,
Whose effect, reheating the pious entrails
Brought to an austere chill a warming paint.

In the times when Christ was seeded around,
More than one illustrious monk, today unknown
Took for a studio the funeral grounds
And glorified Death as the one way shown.

—My soul is a tomb, an empty confine
Since eternity I scour and I reside;
Nothing hangs on the walls of this hideous sty.

O lazy monk! When will I see
The living spectacle of my misery,
The work of my hands and the love of my eyes?


Translated by William A. Sigler


Submitted by Ryan McGuire

Added: 2 Sep 2002 | Last Read: 20 Apr 2018 6:40 AM | Viewed: 5523 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/6683/ | Viewed on 20 April 2018.
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