The Gladly Dead
by Charles Baudelaire
- In a soil thick with snails and rich as grease
- I've longed to dig myself a good deep grave,
- There to stretch my old bones at ease
- And sleep in oblivion, like a shark in a wave.
- Wills I detest, and tombstones set in rows;
- Before I'd beg a tear of anyone,
- I'd rather go alive and let the crows
- Bleed the last scrap of this old carrion.
- O worms! Black comrades without eye or ear,
- Here comes a dead man for you, willing and gay;
- Feasting philosophers, sons born of decay,
- Come burrow through my ruins, shed not a tear;
- But tell me if any torture is left to dread
- For this old soulless body, dead as the dead?