« You are a beautiful autumn sky, clear and pink!

But sadness rises within me like the sea,And leaves, as it recedes upon my morose lips

The burning memory of its bitter silt.Your hand glides in vain upon my swooning breast;

What it seeks, friend, is a place ravaged

By the claw and ferocious tooth of woman.

Seek my heart no more; the beasts have devoured it.

My heart is a palace withered by the throng;

There, they get drunk, they kill, they tear at each other’s hair!

A perfume swims around your bare throat!…

O Beauty, harsh scourge of souls, you will it!

With your fiery eyes, shining like festivals,

Scorch these tatters spared by the beasts!  » (Charles » Baudelaire)