Young Man, Poem by Charles Cros

Oh! to lie quietly down
For infinite hours!
And yet I was your lover
In those surrenders you deny.

You lie too much! Every woman lies.
To toy with ironies,
With cold oblivion, is charming.
I, I kiss your blessed hands.

I fall silent. I go into the night
Of the calm cemetery where the moon
Shines on the dark earth.

Six bullets from my revolver
Will send me under the green turf
To forget your eyes and the moon.

Charles Cros

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

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