Photo by Paul Yelland
Last night, over whiskey and history, a good friend pointed out to me that something extremely simple — a meteor or a disease mutating in a microscopic way — could easily wipe out the human species. This is true, of course, before taking into account the countless tragedies that are utterly commonplace to all save those who endure them.
It's very late and I still haven't left the office. It's been one of those days. Yet it's never too late for some Baudelaire, especially in his less exclamation point-prone mode. There's viruses, pollution and tragedy aplenty in this world.
But we ain't dead yet.
ANGEL of gaiety, have you tasted grief?
Shame and remorse and sobs and weary spite,
And the vague terrors of the fearful night
That crush the heart up like a crumpled leaf?
Angel of gaiety, have you tasted grief?
Angel of kindness, have you tasted hate?
With hands clenched in the shade and tears of gall,
When Vengeance beats her hellish battle-call,
And makes herself the captain of our fate,
Angel of kindness, have you tasted hate?
Angel of health, did you ever know pain,
Which like an exile trails his tired footfalls
The cold length of the white infirmary walls,
With lips compressed, seeking the sun in vain?
Angel of health, did ever you know pain?
Angel of beauty, do you wrinkles know?
Know you the fear of age, the torment vile
Of reading secret horror in the smile
Of eyes your eyes have loved since long ago?
Angel of beauty, do you wrinkles know?
Angle of happiness, and joy, and light,
Old David would have asked for youth afresh
From the pure touch of your enchanted flesh;
I but implore your prayers to aid my plight,
Angel of happiness, and joy, and light.
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