To the Most Beautiful, Poem by Charles Cros

Poem by Charles Cros Collection The Collar of ClawsPeriod 19th century

No one has seen her and, in my heart,
I keep her supreme beauty;
(Away with all mocking laughter!)
And dead, I love her, I love her.

I consulted all the soothsayers,
They all told me: “She is the most beautiful!”
And since then I have drunk all the wines
Against the rebellious memory.

Oh! her hair given to the wind!
Her eyes, autumn twilight!
Her voice that still often
I hear in the monotonous night.

She was the most beautiful, forever,
Among the daughters of the earth…
And I loved her, oh! I loved her
So much, that my mouth must stay silent.

I am ashamed of what I say;
For no one will know either the woman,
Nor the love, nor the paradise
That I keep deep in my soul.

Let these words remain buried,
Forgotten, (forgetting is sweet)
Like a casket full of louis
At the foot of the wall covered with moss.

Charles Cros

Translation generated by Poésies 123 with assistance from the deepseek-chat artificial-intelligence model.

Text published on Poésies 123: https://www.poesies123.com/en/poem-to-the-most-beautiful-charles-cros/