The Ghost, Poem by Charles Baudelaire

Like angels with wild-beast eyes,
I shall return to your alcove
And toward you glide without a sound
With the shadows of the night,

And I shall give you, my brunette,
Kisses cold as the moon
And caresses of a serpent
Crawling around a grave.

When livid morning comes,
You will find my place empty,
Where until evening it will be cold.

Like others through tenderness,
Over your life and over your youth,
I, I want to reign through dread.

Charles Baudelaire

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

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