To women by Alfred de Musset

Yes, women... No matter how they spin   main,

Your power has taken us by surprise.

With a single smile, you can tame

Both the meek and the rogue at once.

Yes, a phrase uttered in the twilight silencely

A glance either gloating or careless:

On the heart that loves you desperately,

You pass a final, crushing sentence.

Yes, your haughtiness is boundless;

You have reduced us to mere clouts;

And the power of your charms, it seems,

Is as unfeeling and cold as a diamond.

Yet, power does  disarm itself,

When its cruelty grows too great.

The sufferer—that silent jester—

Will depart, weeping, wander away.

Let he has  endured an excess of your malice,

Dragging out a most unenviable role.

Yet still, I find all your torments pleasing—

Than yours  work as my executioner.

To women by Alfred de Musset

Yes, women... No matter how they spin   main,

Your power has taken us by surprise.

With a single smile, you can tame

Both the meek and the rogue at once.

Yes, a phrase uttered in the twilight silencely

A glance either gloating or careless:

On the heart that loves you desperately,

You pass a final, crushing sentence.

Yes, your haughtiness is boundless;

You have reduced us to mere clouts;

And the power of your charms, it seems,

Is as unfeeling and cold as a diamond.

Yet, power does  disarm itself,

When its cruelty grows too great.

The sufferer—that silent jester—

Will depart, weeping, wander away.

Let he has  endured an excess of your malice,

Dragging out a most unenviable role.

Yet still, I find all your torments pleasing—

Than yours  work as my executioner.

To women by Alfred de Musset

Yes, women... No matter how they spin   main,

Your power has taken us by surprise.

With a single smile, you can tame

Both the meek and the rogue at once.

Yes, a phrase uttered in the twilight silencely

A glance either gloating or careless:

On the heart that loves you desperately,

You pass a final, crushing sentence.

Yes, your haughtiness is boundless;

You have reduced us to mere clouts;

And the power of your charms, it seems,

Is as unfeeling and cold as a diamond.

Yet, power does  disarm itself,

When its cruelty grows too great.

The sufferer—that silent jester—

Will depart, weeping, wander away.

Let he has  endured an excess of your malice,

Dragging out a most unenviable role.

Yet still, I find all your torments pleasing—

Than yours  work as my executioner