Under a bleak white light she runs, dances and writhes without reason – Life, shameless and shrill. And so, as soon as on the horizon
Voluptuous night rises, calming everything, even hunger, blotting out everything, even shame, the Poet says to himself, ‘At last!
‘My spirit, like my spine, ardently prays for rest; with a heart full of funeral dreams,
‘I shall lie down on my back and roll myself up in your curtains, o refreshing darkness!’
Charles Baudelaire