To Mademoiselle S. de L. C.
The sapphires hard and cold, veiled by the mist
Of proud flesh, resemble those eyes
From which spring silent blue rays,
Unsettling flashes of a warm evening, without a cloud.
Covering the brow, as if distributed at random,
The hair floats in silky whirls.
The mouth remains grave and without a pout, preferring
To open a little, infatuated with its freshness.
This unchanging mouth and this chestnut hair,
These eyes, following invisible sprites in the air,
Have the implacable allure of the mask of Fable.
But no; for in these placid features nothing lies;
And sometimes this gaze reveals, in a moment,
The supreme truth, absolute, ineffable.
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-sonnet-to-mademoiselle-s-de-l-c-charles-cros/
