Afternoon Song

Though your eyebrows surprise,     and give you an air of strangeness,     which isnt that of the angels,     witch with seductive eyes,     I adore my frivolous girl,     my terrible passion,     with the devotion     of a priest for his idol!     The forest and the desert     perfume your wild hair:     your head has an air     of the enigma, the secret.     Round your flesh, perfume sweet     swirls like a censers cloud:     you bewitch like the twilights shroud,     nymph of shadows and heat.     Ah! The strongest potions made     cant match your idleness,     and you know the caress     that resurrects the dead.     Your hips are enamoured     of your back and your breasts,     and the cushions are ravished     with your poses, so languid.     Sometimes to appease     your rage, mysteriously,     you lavish, gravely     your bites and your kisses.     You tear me, my dark-haired one,     with a mocking smiles art,     and then cast on my heart     your gaze sweet as the moon.     Under your shoes so satiny,     your graceful silken feet,     I lay my genius, my wit,     my joy, and my destiny,     restorer of my healths sweetness,     you, all color and light,     explosion of warmth, bright     in my Siberian darkness.