Sketch, Poem by Charles Cros

Sonnet

Beautiful body, but bad temper.
She never wants to be quiet,
Saying, besides, in a charming tone,
Truly absurd things.

Having almost nothing earthly,
Soft to the touch like a panther.
It is hard to be her lover;
But whoever doesn’t call himself crazy for her, lies.

To say all that one thinks of her
Of good and bad, science
Tries and has not succeeded.

And why do it? She mocks
What people say. Funny era
When angels are made this way.

Charles Cros

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