Of his own poem, Larkin wrote: "The piece is evidence that I once read at least one 'foreign poem', though I can't remember how far, if at all, my verses are based on the original."You judge for yourself.
Elle cherchait d'un oeil troublé par la tempête,
De sa naïveté le ciel déjà lointain,
Ainsi qu'un voyageur qui retourne la tête
Vers les horizons bleus dépassés le matin.
De ses yeux amortis les paresseuses larmes,
L'air brisé, la stupeur, la morne volupté,
Ses bras vaincus, jetés comme de vaines armes,
Tout servait, tout parait sa fragile beauté.
Étendue à ses pieds, calme et pleine de joie,
Delphine la couvait avec des yeux ardents,
Comme un animal fort qui surveille une proie,
Après l'avoir d'abord marquée avec les dents.
Beauté forte à genoux devant la beauté frêle,
Superbe, elle humait voluptueusement
Le vin de son triomphe, et s'allongeait vers elle
Comme pour recueillir un doux remerciement.
Elle cherchait dans l'oeil de sa pâle victime
Le cantique muet que chante le plaisir,
Et cette gratitude infinie et sublime
Qui sort de la paupière ainsi qu'un long soupir.
***
[20 more stanzas follow]
Under the pale light of languishing lamps, lying on deep, perfume-impregnated cushions, Hippolyte dreamed of those powerful caresses which were raising the curtain on her young ingenuousness.
With an eye still troubled by storms, she sought the distant skies of her innocence, like a traveller turning round to look back at blue horizons left behind that morning.
The lazy tears from her deadened eyes, her shattered air, her stupefaction, her gloomy voluptuousness, her defeated arms, thrown out like useless weapons -- all served, all embellished her fragile beauty.
Stretched out at her feet, calm and full of joy, Delphine gazed gloatingly at her with ardent eyes, like an animal watching its prey after having first marked it with its teeth
A strong beauty kneeling before frail beauty, she proudly and voluptuously inhaled the bouquet of her triumph and stretched herself out towards the other, as though waiting for a sweet gesture of thanks.
She sought in the eyes of her pale victim the silent canticle sung by pleasure and that infinite and sublime gratitude which suffuses through the eyelids like a long sigh.