Spleen 1

When the sky is weeping, the earth sighs,
And I feel a dreary heaviness in the air,
Each drop of rain arranges a rhythmic dance
That stings my soul like a thousand needles.

Am I not, like the moon, an abandoned child?
I moan, my heart enshrined in a dark chamber;
An opaque cloud stifles the sweet smell of blossoms,
While shadows lurk in the corners of my mind.

This melancholy spoils my love for life,
I seek but find no gentle touch of light,
Only the bitter chill of isolation,
In a world that teases with whispers of spring.

• Charles Baudelaire