Unfortunate

by Charles Baudelaire, 1857

To lift such a heavy weight,
Sisyphus, your courage would take!
Although we have hearts at work,
Art is long and the time is short.

Far from the more famous sepulchers,
Towards a remote cemetery,
My heart, like a veiled little drummer,
Goes beating on funeral marches.

Many a jewel sleeps buried
In darkness and disregard,
Far from the spades and probes;

Many a flower sadly pours out
Its sweet perfume like a secret
Within the deepest solitude.