My well-beloved was stripped. Knowing my whim, <br />She wore her tinkling gems, but naught besides: <br />And showed such pride as, while her luck betides, <br />A sultan's favoured slave may show to him. <br /> <br />When it lets off its lively, crackling sound, <br />This blazing blend of metal crossed with stone, <br />Gives me an ecstasy I've only known <br />Where league of sound and luster can be found. <br /> <br />She let herself be loved: then, drowsy-eyed, <br />Smiled down from her high couch in languid ease. <br />My love was deep and gentle as the seas <br />And rose to her as to a cliff the tide. <br /> <br />My own approval of each dreamy pose, <br />Like a tamed tiger, cunningly she sighted: <br />And candour, with lubricity united, <br />Gave piquancy to every one she chose. <br /> <br />Her limbs and hips, burnished with changing lustres, <br />Before my eyes clairvoyant and serene, <br />Swanned themselves, undulating in their sheen; <br />Her breasts and belly, of my vine and clusters, <br /> <br />Like evil angels rose, my fancy twitting, <br />To kill the peace which over me she'd thrown, <br />And to disturb her from the crystal throne <br />Where, calm and solitary, she was sitting. <br /> <br />So swerved her pelvis that, in one design, <br />Antiope's white rump it seemed to graft <br />To a boy's torso, merging fore and aft. <br />The talc on her brown tan seemed half-divine. <br /> <br />The lamp resigned its dying flame. Within, <br />The hearth alone lit up the darkened air, <br />And every time it sighed a crimson flare <br />It drowned in blood that amber-coloured skin.<br /><br />Charles Baudelaire<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-jewels/
