Your eyes like crystal ask me, clear and mute,

They say to me, your eyes, clear as crystal:

"in me, strange lover, what do you admire?"

"For you, bizarre lover, what is my merit then?"

Be lovely: hush: my heart, whom all things tire

— Be charming and be still! My heart, which all things irk,

Except the candour of the primal brute,

Except the candor of the animals of old,

Would hide from you the secret burning it

Does not wish to reveal its black secret to you,

And its black legend written out in fire,

Whose lulling hands invite me to long sleep,

O soother of the sleep that I respire!

Nor its somber legend written with flame.

Passion I hate, and I am hurt by wit.

I hate passion; intelligence makes me suffer!

Let us love gently. In his lair laid low,

Let us love each other sweetly. Tenebrous Love,

Ambushed in shades, Love strings his fatal bow.

Ambushed in his shelter, stretches his fatal bow.

I know his ancient arsenal complete,

I know all the weapons of his old arsenal:

Crime, horror, lunacy — O my pale daisy!

Crime, horror, and madness! — pale marguerite!

Are we not suns in Autumn, silver-hazy,

Are you not, like me, an autumnal sun,

O my so white, so snow-cold Marguerite?

O my Marguerite, so white and so cold?