Dig, if you will, Nagai Kafū's 1913 translation of Paul Verlaine's piano poem:

Shinayaka naru te ni fururu piano
oboro ni somaru usubarairo no yūbe ni kagayaku.
Kasuka naru tsubasa no hibiki chikara naku shite kokoroyoki
sutareshi uta no hitofushi wa
tayutaitsutsu mo osoru osoru
utsukushiki hito no utsurika komeshi keshō no ma ni samayofu.

Aa yuruyaka ni wagami o yusuru nemuri no uta,
kono yasasiki uta no fushi, nani o ka ware ni omoe to ya.
Hitofushi goto ni kurikaesu kikoenu hodo no REFRAIN wa
nani o ka ware ni motomuru yo.
Kikan to sureba kiku ma mo naku sono utagoe wa koniwa no kata ni kiete yuku,
mosome ni akeshi mado no suki yori.

しなやかなる手にふるゝピアノ
おぼろに染まる薄薔薇色の夕に輝く。
かすかなる翼のひゞき力なくして快き
すたれし歌の一節は
たゆたひつゝも恐る恐る
美しき人の移香こめし化粧の間にさまよふ。

ああゆるやかに我身をゆする眠りの歌、
このやさしき唄の節、何をか我に思へとや。
一節毎に繰返す聞えぬ程の REFRAIN は
何をかわれに求むるよ。
聴かんとすれば聴く間もなくその歌声は小庭のかたに消えて行く、
細目にあけし窓のすきより。

One immediate point of interest is the translation of baise ("kiss") as fururu ("touch"). This isn't a watering-down or a cop-out; it's actually a marvelous choice. None of the Japanese words that meant "kiss" unambiguously in 1913 would have worked: kuchizuke and seppun are, quite apart from their status as unappealing translationese, too specifically about mouths to carry the metaphor here. Kisu had been loaned from English and was a little less grossly physical, but I don't think it had become quite Japanese enough yet to work as a translation of a French word.

Fureru, on the other hand, has been in Japanese since people started writing the language down, and it has been usable in a semi-metaphorical, romantic way for just as long. Man'yōshū 2320:

吾袖尓零鶴雪毛流去而妹之手本伊行觸糠
wa ga swode ni/ purituru yuki mo/ nagare yukite/ imo no tamoto ni/ iyuki purenu ka
The snow fallen on my sleeve: might it not flow away, to reach and touch the hand of my beloved?

The next point of interest, for me, is the treatment of Verlaine's capitalized Elle, "Her". Kanojo had already been coined (under the influence of Indo-European gendered pronouns), but I'm not sure if it was considered unmarked enough for the kind of poetry Kafū is writing here. On the other hand, the term he did use, utsukushiki hito ("beautiful person"), doesn't seem to work very well either. Not only does it abandon the subtlety of the original, it doesn't even seem to make sense: how can we tell from fragrance alone whether the perfume came from someone beautiful or not?

The final stanza can't, and doesn't attempt to, reproduce the effect of the French with all those Qs. The appearance of REFRAIN in there is a bit of a shock (the furigana indicate that it is to be pronounced refuren); I suppose that Kafū couldn't think of a good equivalent, and I can't either. Note that he throws in hitofushi goto ni kurikaesu ("repeating once each verse") to explain what a refrain actually is.

That monster of a last line is mostly weighed down by kikan to sureba kiku ma mo naku ("if one tried to listen to it, it would [vanish] before one could"), which seems to have all come out of tantôt in the original. Finally, we note with interest that while in the original it is the Chant that wants something of the narrator and the refrain that escapes from the window to die in the yard, Kafū reverses the order so that our final image is that of a song — a voice — escaping. We start with graceful hands caressing a piano, survey the room haunted by fragrance and memory, and close with a faint voice slipping away to die in peace.