Is it not pleasant, now we are tired, <br />and tarnished, like other men, to search for those fires <br />in the furthest East, where, again, we might see <br />morning's new dawn, and, in mad history, <br />hear the echoes, that vanish behind us, the sighs <br />of the young loves, God gives, at the start of our lives?<br /><br />Charles Baudelaire<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/n-est-ce-pas-qu-il-est-doux-in-is-it-not-pleasant/
