La Ronde II

Is there anything lovelier

than her lips half-opening?

Is there anything sweeter

than the dark shadow of her brows?

On her face the painter halts

embrace her or cover up her shoulders?

But her hair leads his hand

to her croup full of suggestions.

Then to her thighs of sculpted marble

supporting the curve of her belly

Turning upon a navel, then sloping

rather more below, the center of all.

Jet-black, fit to accept

a tender presage.

O soft bosom oppressing my heart

Receive then

the ripeness of a man’s dream!

Sitor Situmorang
after the French translation of Louis-Charles Damais