To She Who Is Too Light-Hearted

Your head, your gesture, your air,     are lovely, like a lovely landscape:     laughters alive, in your face,     a fresh breeze in a clear atmosphere.     The dour passer-by you brush past there,     is dazzled by health in flight,     flashing like a brilliant light     from your arms and shoulders.     The resounding colours     with which you sprinkle your dress,     inspire the spirits of poets     with thoughts of dancing flowers.     Those wild clothes are the emblem     of your brightly-hued mind:     madcap by whom Im terrified,     I hate you, and love you, the same!     Sometimes in a lovely garden     where I trailed my listlessness,     Ive felt the sunlight sear my breast     like some ironic weapon:     and Springs green presence     brought such humiliation     Ive levied retribution on     a flower, for Natures insolence.     So through some night, when the hour     of sensual pleasure sounds,     Id like to slink, mute coward, bound     for your bodys treasure,     to bruise your sorry breast,     to punish your joyful flesh,     form in your startled side, a fresh     wounds yawning depth,     and breath-taking rapture!     through those lips, new and full     more vivid and more beautiful     infuse my venom, my sister!