Profanation, Poem by Charles Cros

I have no friend,
My mistress is dead.
Only halfway
Do I bear the dread.

Can one live alone?
My desire that stays
Lifts up a shroud
Full of decay.

How pale she has grown,
Her flesh proud and strong,
On which I have slept!
Let us leave without escort!

Worse than an ancestor,
Without flinching I endure
The scent of the linden tree
The sounds of the branches.

Musk, myrrh, elemi,
Songs of every sort,
I fall asleep among
Your acrid cohort.

I can live alone,
For my skin is tough.
Cover, O shroud,
This decay.

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-profanation-charles-cros/