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On your rich carpets, on your couch that lets
Softness breathe amid the perfumes,
In this voluptuous retreat,
Where far from all eyes, far from the noises of the earth,
The entwined curtains seem, for some mystery,
To extinguish the rays of day,
Do not be proud, laughing courtesan,
If, for all your sisters, my serious mouth
Smiles at you as gently,
If, for you alone here, less icy and less slow,
My hand on your bare breast wanders, so burning
That one would take me for a lover.
It is not that my heart, subject to your empire,
By the deceptive charm your gaze inspires,
Unable to resist,
Has let itself be caught by that deceitful bait
And feels a love you cannot understand,
My poor child! nor deserve.
No: these laughs, these tears, these kisses, these bites,
This neck, these arms bruised with amorous wounds,
These transports, this inflamed eye;
This is not a confession, this is not a homage
At least: it is that your features recall to me the image
Of another woman whom I loved.
She had your speech, she had your smile,
That gentle, dreamy air that cannot be described.
And seems to implore support;
And do you understand the power of illusion?
One would say her eye, all veiled with innocence,
Cast fires like your own.
Come: look at me with that gaze so tender,
Speak to me, touch me, so that I may seem to hear her
And feel her at my side.
Prolong my error: may that touching voice
Bring back to me accents so familiar and sing to me
All the airs she sang to me!
Let us hurry, let us hurry! Mad is he who, from a dream,
When the day has chased away the fleeting lie,
Still hopes to seize it again!
Let your mouth abandon itself to my fiery kisses,
Come, let each of us deceive the other and give him
You happiness, I pleasure!
Arvers Félix
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-the-resemblance-arvers-felix/