Continuing in the spirit of translation, here is a poem by Nerval, "Myrtho."

"Myrtho"

I think on you, Myrtho, divine enchantress,
On Pausillipe's arrogance -- those thousand fires blazing --
On your face drowned in the Orient's shining,
On black grapes mixed with the gold of your braid.

It is from your cup that I've imbibed intoxication
And from the hidden lightning in your eyes,
When, at the feet of Bacchus you have watched me praying,
And thus the Muse has made me (yes) your Grecian son.

I know why, below, the Vulcan's ruptured himself (again)...
Because yesterday you had touched him with an agile foot,
And in sudden cinders so he covered sky!

And ever since a Norman duke broke your gods of clay
Always, under the boughs of Virgil's laurels
The pale hydrangea locks -- with my green myrtle!