The Flowers of Evil
Beneath the green ivy, Sluggish, softened, there apparaint, Dreamy, delicate language uttered: Messages wild by earth deferred.
In the shade slow whisperings do pass, Fragrant as a tender breath, They trail in dreams the past so sweet, Nestled in clover at where beds meet.
There, all is only order and beauty, Luxury, peace, and sensuality.
- Charles Baudelaire