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A poem from Charles Baudelaire’s ’Flowers of Evil’: Behave, my Sorrow! Let’s have no more scenes. Evening’s what you wanted - Evening’s here: a gradual darkness overtakes the town, bringing peace to some, to others pain. Now, while humanity racks up remorse in low distractions under Pleasure’s lash, groveling for a ruthless master - come away, my Sorrow, leave them! Give me your hand ... See how the dear departed dowdy years crowd the balconies of heaven, leaning down, while smiling out of the sea appears Regret; the Sun will die in its sleep beneath a bridge, and trailing westward like a winding sheet - listen, my dear - how softly Night arrives.
