Carmen

Carmen is thin—a trace of bistre

Rings her eyes of any gypsy.

Her hair is of a black sinister,

Her skin, the devil tanned it surely.

Women say that she is ugly,

But all the men are mad about her:

And the archbishop of Toledo

Sings the mass to those knees of hers;

For on her nape of amber wild

An enormous bun is twined

That gives the alcove, once unwrithed,

A mantle for her body fine.

And, amid her pallor, breaks

A mouth where vanquishing laughter starts;

Red pepper, scarlet brake,

Purpled with blood of heart upon heart.

Made thus, the little wog

Beats the loftiest of beauties,

And of her eyes the gleaming hot

Re-ignites satieties.

She has, in her piquant plainness,

A bit of salt from those great seas

Whence had sprung, provoking and naked,

The acrid Venus of the bitter abyss.

Théophile Gautier