Read the poem: “The Evil Monk “

by Charles Baudelaire

Extract of The Flowers of Evil

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American Literature – American Poetry – Charles Baudelaire
< < < The Death of the Poor
The Eyes of Beauty > > >

The Evil Monk

The ancient cloisters on their lofty walls
Had holy Truth in painted frescoes shown,
And, seeing these, the pious in those halls
Felt their cold, lone austereness less alone.

At that time when Christ’s seed flowered all around,
More than one monk, forgotten in his hour,
Taking for studio the burial-ground,
Glorified Death with simple faith and power.

And my soul is a sepulchre where I,
Ill cenobite, have spent eternity:
On the vile cloister walls no pictures rise.

O when may I cast off this weariness,
And make the pageant of my old distress
For these hands labour, pleasure for these eyes?

Translated by F. P. Sturm

< < < The Death of the Poor
The Eyes of Beauty > > >

American Literature – American Poetry – Charles Baudelaire

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by Charles Baudelaire

Extract of The Flowers of Evil

The Evil Monk

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