Madrigal (on an Ivory Notebook), Poem by Charles Cros

My verses, on the ivory leaves
Of your notebook, pretend
To imitate the black flowering
Of your hair on your white neck.

Immortal stanzas would be needed
For your triumphant charm,
When in a whirl of fabrics
You enter the ball like a madwoman.

The breast palpitates beneath the gauze
And, half-closed, the eyes
Veil their topaz flashes
Under the fringe of silky lashes.

Parisian Willis, marked
With a troubling but gentle charm,
I await, voluptuous dread,
Death, if I waltz with you.

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-madrigal-on-an-ivory-notebook-charles-cros/