Rimbaud, "Première soirée"

 A work ("First evening") by this French poet.  You can read the original here.

Undressed was she, O how undressed,                           
As large and shameless trees appeared;                   
Each leaf a window pane caressed,      
With guile and O so near, so near.

Upon my chair she lay half-nude,            
Her white hands softly thus entwined;
Upon the floor, a coy étude:
Her little feet, so fine, so fine.

And I then saw, as bright as wax,
A hidden ray of light repose,
Which flitted in a smile's red tracks
And on her breast, a fly or rose.

I kissed her ankles, and so thrilled; 
A soft and brutal laugh she gave
And stretched in echoes of clear trills,
The lovely laugh of crystal cave.

As those small feet beneath her gown
Escaped, she quipped: "Won't you relent!"
The first bold move had brought no frown,
Just laughter feigning punishment!

And palpitating by my lip,
Her poor bright eyes I softly kissed;
Her vapid head began to slip
Far back: "So better now!" she hissed.

"Now sir, I must reveal this much" –
But then upon her breast I dived
With kisses matched to every touch,  
And laughter that was scarce contrived.

Undressed was she, divine, undressed.
As large and shameless trees did peer
In windows grazed by leaf's caress, 
To us they came so near, so near.

Pushkin, "Окно"

A very popular poem ("Window") by this writer of genius.  You can read the original here.

One darkened time not long ago,        
Beneath an empty moon's sad reign,
In foggy haze of endless flow,
A girl sat by a window pane.  
Alone I saw her brood in thought,   
Her breast a-heave in secret thrills;
As her keen gaze the circuits caught
Of one dark path beneath the hills.

"I'm here!" came forth a whisper's snatch,       
And shaking, she moved quick her hands, 
Through fear and angst to window's latch,
The moon as lightless as the lands. 
"Luck's child," I said with certain woe,
"For you but joy awaits your heart! 
"And when shall I some evening know,
"A window open as fate's chart?"

Akhmatova, "Алиса"

A work ("Alisa") by this Russian poet.  You can read the original here.

1

She worried still about the past,          
About her dreams of distant Mays, 
As Pierrette's mind became the last  
Retreat of whole and golden days.

The shards of jug she gathered strewn,  
Not knowing how to piece them back.           
"If only you, Alisa, knew                           
How life is dull, how life is slack!

"At dinner yawns engulf the meal,    
And food and drink I soon forget.   
Be sure oblivion conceals
My brows, which I no longer fret.

"Give me the means, Alisa mine,    
To bring it back, all back to me!   
All that I have is yours with time,             
From house and clothes then set me free.         

"He came to me in dream-like crown,         
Each night I fear, each night lie scared!"   
Do you know whose dark ringlet frowns             
In the locket Alisa wears?   

2

"How late! So tired then I yawn."
"Мignon, lie there, you needn't move,
My reddish hair, coiffed and drawn,
For my coy mistress I improve."

In bows of green with pearly hasp
Amidst her hair, she read the note:
"I'll wait for you by maple's grasp;
For you I'll wait, O Count unknown!"

Beneath a mask of lace I see 
Her stifle laughs of baleful spite; 
Today she even ordered me    
To strangle her with garters tight.   

On blackest dress came morning's face  
From window's corner dark it shone:
"And me I know he will embrace
By maple's grasp, my Count unknown."

Tieck, "Herbstlied"

A Romantic poem ("Autumnal song") by this German man of letters.  You can read the original here.

Once toward this field a bird did fly
And sang in mirthful sunshine pure.
With wondrous, sweetest tones it cried:
"Come forth and leave this soft allure!"
So I'd depart by end of day.

When heard I rapt the field-strewn lyre,
Then joy and fear both took their hold;
O happy pain, O dampened fire!
My ardor rose to fall back cold.
Does pain or joy my heart then flay?

So as I saw the leaves descend
I knew that Fall at last had come.
No summer guest, the swallow's end.
What will then love and lust become?
So fast, so fast, makes time its way.

Yet summer's sun returned again,
As did the bird I once espied.
And gazing at my tear-strewn mien
"Love knows no winter," it replied,
"Spring's shown its face, fear not this lay."

Mallarmé, "Les fenêtres"

A work ("The windows") by this renowned French symbolist.  You can read the original here.

Fatigued by hospice bed and incense foul  
Aloft in plainest white against the drape,    
To empty wall's pale Cross of bulging shape,
The sly and dying man addressed his scowl.

He lurched, yet not to warm his coil's decay, 
But to behold the sun upon the stones, 
To press his body's thin white hairs and bones  
To sunbed windows of fierce browning ray.

Azure blue, hungry, hot, his mouth still young 
A treasure of past days anew breathed in,
And spoiled warm squares of gold, sweet virgin skin,
With long and bitter kisses now far-flung.

And drunk, forgetting fears of holy oils,
He finds the clock, his bed, the tisanes while
He coughs; and when the evening bleeds on tiles
His eye, gorged on horizon's brightness, toils.

He sees fine golden galleys there asleep,
A purple river's swans in perfume's haze,
The rich and tawny flash of their lines sways 
In unimportant waves of sights he'll keep.

Thus seized by horror for an austere soul,
Now wallowing in joy and met desires, 
I stubbornly pick through the refuse mires
To aid the woman suckling her young foal.

I flee and hang upon these windows bare    
From which I turn my back to life and news, 
In their glass blessed, washed with eternal dews
Which gild the chaste and endless morning glare.

Angelic in mirrors, I love and die –
And may these panes be mystic or be art –
To be reborn, a crown of dreams apart 
Where beauty blooms in tender bygone sky!

Alas, the earth is master here; its dread 
Will sicken me, safe from my nemesis, 
And foolish musings' impure emesis
Obliges me to hold my breath instead.

And I, whom bitterness knows well, should I
Then break the crystal, break the monster's toy
Escape on unplumed wings in search of joy,
And risk eternal fall in darkest sky?