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I've only made about 3 successful translations of anything in my life, one from Rimbaud (Seven Year Old Poets, in Angry Penguins), one from Virgil, and one from Jules Laforgue, the 19th French poet who died at 27 and was influential on Pound and Eliot. Here's the French, followed by my "version" -- more in the "love" theme mentioned earlier, but obviously of a different tenor.
Que loin l'âme type
Qui m'a dit adieu
Parce que mes yeux
Manquaient de principes !
Elle, en ce moment,
Elle, si pain tendre,
Oh ! peut-être engendre
Quelque garnement.
Car on l'a unie
Avec un monsieur,
Ce qu'il y a de mieux,
Mais pauvre en génie.
Oh, that model soul
bade me her adieu
because my eyes… too?
lacked principle.
She, such tender bread
(now a Wonder loaf)
…typical! gives birth
to one more brat.
For, married, she is
always with a guy
who is a nice guy,
hence his genius.