All of Her, Poem by Charles Baudelaire

The Demon, in my lofty room,
Came to see me this morning,
And, trying to catch me in fault,
Said to me: “I would like to know,

Among all the beautiful things
Of which her enchantment is made,
Among the objects black or pink
That compose her charming body,

Which is the sweetest.” — O my soul!
You answered the Abhorred One:
“Since in Her all is balm,
Nothing can be preferred.

When all delights me, I ignore
If anything seduces me.
She dazzles like the Dawn
And consoles like the Night;

And the harmony is too exquisite,
Which governs all her beautiful body,
For powerless analysis
To note its numerous accords.

O mystic metamorphosis
Of all my senses melted into one!
Her breath makes the music,
As her voice makes the perfume!”

Charles Baudelaire

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

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