The End of the Day In all its raucous impudence Life writhes, cavorts in pallid light, With little cause or consequence; And when, with darkling skies, the night Casts over all its sensuous balm, Quells hunger's pangs and, in like wise, Quells shame beneath its pall of calm, "Aha, at last!" the Poet sighs. "My mind, my bones, yearn, clamoring For sweet repose unburdening. Heart full of dire, funeral thought, ....... Charles Baudelaire, Les Fleurs du mal