Advice

Poem by Charles Cros Collection The Sandalwood CasketPeriod 19th century

When over your blond hair, tawny in the sun,
You tie black velvet ribbons, wicked one,
I think of the tiger whose coat is the same:
Russet ground, striped with black, splendor of dread.

When laughter makes gleam, in the vermilion cup
Of your lips, the flash of disquieting nacre,
When your burning cheek stirs, it is an awakening
Of tiger: mewlings, white teeth, death that tempts.

And then, look at yourself. Even without that velvet,
Though lovelier, in the end you always resemble
Him whom your mouth sometimes disparages.

Besides, what if you fell under his claw, one day?
One never knows whom one may meet in the wood:
Madam, you must not speak ill of the tiger.

Charles Cros

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