The Frame, Poem by Charles Baudelaire

Like a fine frame adds to a painting,
Though it be by a much-praised brush,
Some strange and enchanted something
By isolating it from immense nature,

So jewels, furnishings, metals, gilding,
Fitted exactly her rare beauty;
Nothing dimmed her perfect clarity,
And all seemed to serve her as a border.

At times one would even say she believed
That all wished to love her; she drowned
Her nakedness voluptuously

In the kisses of satin and linen,
And slow or sudden, with every movement
Showed the childlike grace of the monkey.

Charles Baudelaire

Translation generated by Poésies 123 with assistance from the deepseek-chat artificial-intelligence model.

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