(_Épigraphe pour un livre condamné_)
Sober, simple, artless man,
In these pages do not look,
Melancholy lurks within,
Sad and saturnine the book.
Cast it from thee. If thou know'st
Not of that dark learnèd band,
Whom wise Satan rules as Dean;
Throw! Thou would'st not understand.
Yet, if unperturbed thou canst,
Standing on the heights above,
Plunge thy vision in the abyss
--Read in me and learn to love.
If thy soul hath suffered, friend,
And for Paradise thou thirst,
Ponder my devil-ridden song
And pity me ... or be accurst!