I am passing by at dusk 
in a white shirt.
I am looking sidelong 
in the boiled soil
the growth so wild 
of yellow flowers.
I do not know
what Evil is
(“Flowers of Evil” – 
how did you guess which ones they were? 
Oh, Baudelaire!) .
I do not know, 
what Good is 
(in His name 
I swear) .
And I am passing on again so distant, 
again in a white shirt…
In an endless sorrow.                
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
 
                    