Forest, I fear you! In my ruined heart your roaring wakens the same agony as in cathedrals when the organ moans and from the depths I hear that I am … - Charles Baudelaire

Ah! miserable dog, if I had offered you a package of excrement, you would have smelled it with delight and perhaps devoured it. In this, poor companion of my sad life, you are like the public, to whom one must never present delicate perfumes, which exasperate them, but only carefully chosen filth.

the Devil's hand directs our every move
the things we loathed become the things we love;
day by day we drop through stinking shades
quite undeterred on our descent to Hell.

A tender heart unnerved by nothingness
hoards every fragment of the radiant past.