Baudelaire, Charles: L'Ennemi (L'ennemi Angol nyelven)
my youth was all a murky hurricane;
not oft did the suns of splendour burst the gloom;
so wild the lightning raged, so fierce the rain,
few crimson fruits my garden-close illume.
now I have touched the autumn of the mind,
I must repair and smooth the earth, to save
my little seed-plot, torn and undermined,
guttered and gaping like an open grave.
and will the flowers all my dreams implore
draw from this garden wasted like a shore
some rich mysterious power the storm imparts?
— o grief! o grief! time eats away our lives,
and the dark Enemy gnawing at our hearts
sucks from our blood the strength whereon he thrives!