"Afternoon Song "

Charles Baudelaire

 
Though your wicked eyebrows call
Your nature into question
(Unangelic`s their suggestion,
Witch whose eyes enthrall)
 
I adore you still
O foolish terrible emotion
Kneeling in devotion
As a priest to his idol will.
 
Your undone braids conceal
Desert, forest scents,
In your exotic countenance
Lie secrets unrevealed.
 
Over your flesh perfume drifts
Like incense `round a censor,
Tantalizing dispenser
Of evening`s ardent gifts.
 
No Philtres could compete
With your potent idleness:
You`ve mastered the caress
That raises dead me to their feet.
 
Your hips themselves are romanced
By your back and by your breasts:
By your languid dalliance.
 
Now and then, your appetite`s
Uncontrolled, unassuaged:
Mysteriously enraged,
You kiss me and you bite.
 
Dark one, I am torn
By your savage ways,
Then, soft as the moon, your gaze
Sees my tortured heart reborn.
 
Beneath your satin shoe,
Beneath your charming silken foot.
My greatest joy I put
My genius and destiny, too.
  
You bring my spirit back,
Bringer of the light.
Exploding color in the night
Of my Siberia so black.
 

Inne teksty autora

Charles Baudelaire
Charles Baudelaire
Charles Baudelaire
Charles Baudelaire
Charles Baudelaire
Charles Baudelaire
Charles Baudelaire
Charles Baudelaire
Charles Baudelaire
Charles Baudelaire
Charles Baudelaire
Charles Baudelaire
Charles Baudelaire
Charles Baudelaire
Charles Baudelaire
Charles Baudelaire
Charles Baudelaire
Charles Baudelaire