The Vampire, Poem by Charles Baudelaire

You who, like a knife thrust,
Have entered my plaintive heart;
You who, strong as a herd
Of demons, came, mad and adorned,

Of my humiliated mind
To make your bed and your domain;
– Infamous one to whom I am bound
Like a convict to his chain,

Like the stubborn gambler to the game,
Like the drunkard to the bottle,
Like vermin to the carcass,
– Accursed, accursed be you!

I have prayed the swift blade
To conquer my liberty,
And I have told the treacherous poison
To come to my cowardice’s aid.

Alas! the poison and the blade
Have taken me in disdain and said:
“You are not worthy to be torn
From your accursed slavery,

Imbecile! – if our efforts
Delivered you from her empire,
Your kisses would resurrect
The corpse of your vampire!”

Charles Baudelaire

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

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