Icarus.

"Lament of an Icarus"

Charles Baudelaire

Those men who cuddle whores for love

Are sated by their darlings' charms,

But I have only tired arms

From having hugged the clouds above.

Thanks to the stars, the matchless ones

That flame within the depths of skies,

All I can see with burnt-out eyes

Are dark remembrances of suns.

In vain I've tried to find the heart

Of space, to venture deeper, higher;

Under who knows what eye of fire

My weary wings will break apart;

And burned by love of beauty, I

Will not achieve my poignant wish

To give my name to the abyss,

The tomb below, to which I fly.