The Flowers of Sickness and Evil1861To bear a weight that cannot be borne,Sisyphus, even you aren't that strong,Although your heart cannot be tornTime is short and Art is long.Far from celebrated sepulchersToward a solitary graveyardMy heart, like a drum muffled hardBeats a funeral march for the ill-starred.-Many jewels are buried or shroudedIn darkness and oblivion's clouds,Far from any pick or drill bit,Many a flower unburdens with regretIts perfume sweet like a secret;In profoundly empty solitude to sit.