My love, do you recall the object which we saw, That fair, sweet, summer morn! At a turn in the path a foul carcass. On a gravel strewn bed, Its legs raised in the air, like a lustful woman, Burning and dripping with poisons, Displayed in a shameless, nonchalant way. Its belly, swollen with gases.
Charles BaudelaireAbout author
- Author's profession: Poet, Critic
- Nationality: french
- Born: April 9, 1821
- Died: August 31, 1867