The Flowers of Evil

In my garden of dreams, unplucked blooms,
Foul and fragrant, arise from somber tombs;
Where shadows blend with choices dark,
Yet every petal sings its lark.

The violet shall weep, the rose shall dance,
Each grotesque blossom in a stolen glance;
Gushing rivulets of desperate red,
Where angels cry and the poets tread.

Embrace the drear to find the light,
In cursed withering lies hidden delight;
Thus nature’s duality plays its part
In the deepest recesses of the heart.

• Charles Baudelaire