"I Worship You"
by Charles Baudelaire

I worship you as I worship the firmament of night,
O urn of sadness, great silent woman,
And love you, beautiful one, the more you flee from me,
And seem to me, ornament of my nights,
To accumulate ironically the leagues
Which separate my arms from the expanse of blue.

I advance to the attack, I climb to the assault,
As a chorus of worms climb over a corpse,
And I cherish, O implacable cruel beast,
Even that coldness by which you are for me more