The Tomb of Charles Baudelaire

The buried temple divulges through its sewer’s

Sepulchral mouth which dribbles mud and rubies

Abominably some such idol Anubis

All its muzzle afire like a bark farouche

Or let the recent gas twist the wick louche

Wiper it is known of suffered opprobria

It lights haggard an immortal pubis

Whose flying by the streetlamp sleeps elsewhere

What dried foliage without in the towns

Votive evening can bless as it sit down

Against the marble vainly of Baudelaire

In her veil that girds her absent with shivers

She his Shade even a poison tutelary

Always and ever to breathe if we die of it.

Stéphane Mallarmé