Meditation
Meditation
Have patience, O my Sorrow, settle down.
You longed for Evening, Evening now is here:
A dusky air falls and enfolds the town,
To some men bringing peace, to others care.
While the dull mortal crowd, sweating beneath
The whip of Pleasure and his pitiless sway,
Reaps the remorse born of some servile feast,
Give me your hand, my Sorrow, come this way,
Far from them all. See the dead Years lean out
From Heaven's balconies in faded robes
See, rising from the deep, smiling Regret
The dying Sun asleep beneath an arch
And, like a long shroud trailing from the East,
Hear, love, that footfall hear Night's soft approach.
Writer/s: Charles Baudelaire, Susanna Wallumrød
