The Thirst for the Void by Charles Baudelaire

My soul, you used to love the battle's rumble. 
Hope, whose sharp spur once kindled you like flame, 
Will mount on you no more. Rest, without shame, 
Old charger, since at every step you stumble.

Sleep now the sleep of brutes, proud heart: be humble.

O broken raider, for your outworn mettle, 
Love has no joys, no fight is worth disputing. 
Farewell to all the trumpeting and fluting!
Pleasure, have done, when brooding shadows settle,

The blooms of spring are vanquished by the nettle.

As snows devour stiff corpses in their welter, 
Time wolfs my soul in, minute after minute. 
I've seen the world and everything that's in it, 
And I no longer seek in it for shelter;

Come, Avalanche! and sweep me helter-skelter.