Plaint of Icarus

Lovers of prostitutes, in crowds,
Are sated and content and cheery,
But as for me, my arms are weary
Because I have embraced the clouds.

It is thanks to the peerless stars
That flame in the depth of the sky
My devoured eyes can now descry
Only the memories of suns.

In vain I had at heart to find
The centre and the end of space;
Beneath some burning, unknown gaze
My wings are crumbling bit by bit.

And burned because I beauty love,
I shall not know the highest bliss
And give my name to the abyss
Which waits to serve me as my tomb.

- Baudelaire in Flowers of Evil