The Pipe : Baudelaire

[vosBghos]

I am the pipe of an author;
One sees by my color,
Abyssinian or Kaffir,
That my master's a great smoker.

When he is laden with sorrow,
I smoke like a cottage
Where they are preparing dinner
For the return of the ploughman.

I clasp and lull his soul
In the wavy blue web
That rises from my firey mouth.

I give forth clouds of dittany
That warm his heart and cure
His mind of fatigue.

 

[Searock Fan]

I feel a warm cozy glow and a tear running down my cheek.

 

[UB 40]

I am the pipe of an author;
One sees by my color,
Abyssinian or Kaffir,
That my master's a great smoker.

When he is laden with sorrow,
I smoke like a cottage
Where they are preparing dinner
For the return of the ploughman.

I clasp and lull his soul
In the wavy blue web
That rises from my firey mouth.

I give forth clouds of dittany
That warm his heart and cure
His mind of fatigue.

Ah yes Baudelaire he was one of the great masters of French poetry of the 18th century, a master of disillusion, pessimism and melancholy. Also a well known translator of the writings of Edgar Allan Poe. And obviously a pipe smoker.