Six Tercets, Poem by Charles Cros

Poem by Charles Cros Collection The Sandalwood CasketPeriod 19th century

To Degas

Her abundant blond hair, stuffed with horsehair,
Stands up proud: two side tufts
Plaster themselves on her forehead in mocking spirals.

Aquamarines, in the transparent jewel case
Of her eyelids, her eyes bathed in a clear fluid
Have a voluptuous gaze that disdains me.

Everything mocks me: the fine eyebrows, untamed arcs,
The nose with its knowing flair, the purplish tongue
That stretches out until it tickles the nostril,

And the pointed chin, sign of implacable
Wills, and then that irritating beauty mark
Sitting below the nose and quite near the mouth.

But, at the tip of the pink chin where there comes to rest
A dainty finger, in this pensive attitude,
Enigmatically the dimple sinks in.

I take, favored by this calm, a kiss
On the flakes of down covering her fine nape,
As payment for this rhymed sketch after you, Berthe.

Charles Cros

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