Weary Resentment, Poem by Charles Cros

Despite her mad betrayal,
Is she not still the same?
Pride is no longer in season.
I love her.

I know that she remains, despite
Impure contacts, eternal virgin,
That no venom has penetrated
Into her,

Marble too carnal that endures
Every stain, but defies them;
Since the rain, in one night,
Washes it clean.

Even in the time of first glances,
I knew her vain and perverse.
But the soul in threatening hazards
Is lulled.

Closing my eyes, I gave myself
To her unhealthy sweetness,
Thinking well that I would bear
The pain.

Bitten, dying, from having pressed
The panther to my breast,
I want to remain proud of it, and will know
How to be silent.

This month of April, I want to banish
From my heart the gloomy dreams.
I want to adorn her memory
With roses.

And I take back the freedom
To adore her supreme grace.
Such as I was I have remained.
I love her.

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-weary-resentment-charles-cros/