Gathering Flowers, Poem by Charles Cros

She was a real little guttersnipe,
She came from God knows where,
I loved her like a beast.
Oh! youth, what a feast.

A kiss behind her neck
Made her laugh and drove me mad.
Sainfoin, buttercup, daisy,
Watched over our tête-à-tête.

The clearing is like a parlor
All golden; the yellow bees
Go to the flowers that are like them;

I alone, fierce and black hornet,
Who kiss her vermilion lips,
I make a blot on this blond tangle.

Charles Cros

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