Je suis belle, ô mortels! comme un rêve de pierre,
Et mon sein, où chacun s'est meurtri tour à tour,
Est fait pour inspirer au poète un
Eternel et muet ainsi que la matière.
Je trône dans l'azur comme un sphinx incompris;
J'unis un coeur de neige à la blancheur des cygnes;
Je hais le mouvement qui déplace les lignes,
Et jamais je ne pleure et jamais je ne ris.
Les poètes, devant mes grandes attitudes,
Que j'ai l'air d'emprunter aux plus fiers monuments,
Consumeront leurs jours en d'austères études;
Car j'ai, pour fasciner ces dociles amants,
De purs miroirs qui font toutes choses plus belles:
Mes yeux, mes larges yeux aux clartés éternelles!
BeautyI am fair,
O mortals! like a dream carved in stone,
And my breast where each one in turn has bruised himself Is made to inspire in the poet a love As eternal and silent as matter.
On a throne in the sky, a mysterious sphinx,
I join a heart of snow to the whiteness of swans;
I hate movement for it displaces lines,
And never do I weep and never do I laugh.
Poets, before my grandiose poses,
Which I seem to assume from the proudest statues,
Will consume their lives in austere study;
For I have, to enchant those submissive lovers,
Pure mirrors that make all things more beautiful:
My eyes, my large, wide eyes of eternal brightness!— Translated by William
Beauty I'm fair,
O mortals, as a dream of stone;
My breasts whereon, in turn, your wrecks you shatter,
Were made to wake in poets' hearts alone A love as indestructible as matter.
A sky-throned sphinx, unknown yet,
I combine The cygnet's whiteness with a heart of snow.
I loathe all movement that displaces line,
And neither tears nor laughter do I know.
Poets before my postures, which I seem To learn from masterpieces, love to dream And there in austere thought consume their days.
I have, these docile lovers to subject,
Mirrors that glorify all they reflect — These eyes, great eyes, eternal in their blaze!— Translated by Roy
La Beautéfair as a dream in stone I loom afar— mortals! — with dazzling breast where, bruised in turnall poets fall in silence, doomed to burnwith love eternal as the atoms are.white as a swan I throne with heart of snowin azure space, a sphynx that none divine,no hateful motion mars my lovely line,nor tears nor laughter shall I ever poets, lured by this magnificence— this grandeur proud as Parian monuments —toil all their days like martyrs in a spell;lovers bewitched are they, for I possesspure mirrors harbouring worlds of loveliness:my wide, wide eyes where fires eternal dwell!— Translated by Lewis Piaget
Conceive me as a dream of stone: my breast, where mortals come to grief, is made to prompt all poets' love, mute and noble as matter itself.
With snow for flesh, with ice for heart,
I sit on high, an unguessed sphinx begrudging acts that alter forms;
I never laugh,
I never weep.
In studious awe the poets brood before my monumental pose aped from the proudest pedestal, and to bind these docile lovers fast I freeze the world in a perfect mirror:
The timeless light of my wide eyes.
William A.
Sigler
