As a spirit with yellow eyes, gleaming, will I to thy couch come again and with the shades of night softly glide toward thee. And kisses will I give thee, my dark beauty, chill as the moon and caresses shuddering and slow, as a writhing serpent encoiling a tomb.
When the garish dawn shatters night's calm, fled shalt thou find me, desert my place and cold until day has waned.
Wiles gentle and tender would others use to thy wooing,
but I by terror's dark fascination
would hold thee
Beresford Egan's translations of Baudelaire range from winsome to morbid - the tone of this piece seems to have more in common with the evocative early fantasy of Lord Dunsany