Sonnet (There Are Moments When Women Are Flowers), Poem by Charles Cros

Poem by Charles Cros Collection The Collar of ClawsPeriod 19th century

There are moments when women are flowers;
We have no respect for these fresh corollas…
I am a butterfly fleeing mad things,
And it is in a supreme kiss that I die.

But sometimes there are wicked rumors;
I kissed your beak, blue bird that flies away,
I blocked my ear to funereal words;
But, Muse, I yielded beneath your charming gaze.

I pay with my true blood, I pay
And will receive, I know, no change,
And I will be left to die at the foot of the wall.

Having gone through everything, flood, flame,
I will not complain, delicious woman,
Neither of the past, nor the present, nor the future!

Charles Cros

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