The hour has come at last when, trembling to and fro, <br />Each flower is a censer sifting its perfume; <br />The scent and sounds all swirl in evening’s gentle fume; <br />A melancholy waltz, a languid vertigo! <br /> <br />Each flower is a censer sifting its perfume; <br />A violin’s vibrato wounds the heart of woe; <br />A melancholy waltz, a languid vertigo! <br />The sky, a lofty altar, lovely in the gloom, <br /> <br />A violin’s vibrato wounds the heart of woe, <br />A tender heart detests the black of nullity, <br />The sky, a lofty altar, lovely in the gloom; <br />The sun is drowning in the evening’s blood-red glow. <br /> <br />A tender heart detests the black of nullity, <br />And lovingly preserves each trace of long ago! <br />The sun is drowning in the evening’s blood-red glow … <br />Your memory shines through me like an ostensory!<br /><br />Charles Baudelaire<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/evening-harmony/
