No doubt you can spot the keywords which leapt out at me from Charles Baudelaire‘s poem “La Mort des amants” (“The Death of Lovers”, here translated by William Aggeler) from Les Fleurs du mal, but the whole thing is sublime. There’s a Debussy setting of it below, or a more contemporary version here, accompanied by no less than 18 cellists.
We shall have beds full of subtle perfumes,
Divans as deep as graves, and on the shelves
Will be strange flowers that blossomed for us
Under more beautiful heavens.
Using their dying flames emulously,
Our two hearts will be two immense torches
Which will reflect their double light
In our two souls, those twin mirrors.
Some evening made of rose and of mystical blue
A single flash will pass between us
Like a long sob, charged with farewells;
And later an Angel, setting the doors ajar,
Faithful and joyous, will come to revive
The tarnished mirrors, the extinguished flames.