Vision, Poem by Charles Cros

To Puvis de Chavannes.

In the morning, well rested,
You flee, laughing, and you gather
The white lilies-of-the-valley, whose leaves
Have pearls of dew.

The green shoots of the oaks
In your blond hair
Hinder your free movement
Toward the nearby clearings.

But you break, pouting,
The audacity of each branch
That attracted your white neck
And the roses of your cheek.

Your dress is caught on that tree,
And the claws of the hedge
Sometimes trace a line
Red, on your marble neck.

Let your veils be torn.
Who are you, fresh girl,
Whose clear gaze reflects
The sun and the stars?

Now you are naked.
And you go, still laughing,
Toward the place from which the dawn comes;
And you, where did you come from?

But you slow your course
Pensive and scenting the breeze.
Delicious surprise,
Hear the sound of the spring.

Then shivering, happy
As you hang from the willows,
You slip down to your shoulders,
Into the caressing and hollow water.

Over there, what a superb flower!
It looks like a double lily;
But the water all around is troubled
Full of soft reeds and grass.

III

I followed you as a satyr,
And hidden, I watch you,
White, in the babbling water;
But that water lily attracts you.

You take that false lily, that traitor.
And the reeds have entwined you.
Oh! my heart and my thought
With you will disappear!

The reeds, the grass, the mud
Stop me against the bank.
Must I survive you
Without having kissed your cheek?

Then, if you must die,
Tell me what your name is,
Beautiful, more than all beautiful!
Your name will fill my hours.

“Friend, I am Hope.
My arms on my breast grow cold.”

And the frogs croak
In the pond of indifference.

Charles Cros

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

Text published on Poésies 123: https://www.poesies123.com/en/poem-vision-charles-cros/