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Baudelaire: LA PIPE

I am the pipe of an author ;
One can see, contemplating my
Abyssinian or Cafrine air,
That my master is a great smoker.

When he is filled with pain,
I fume like a little cottage
Where the kitchen is prepared
For the return of a labourer.

I enlace and I cradle his soul
In the mobile and blue weave
That rises from my fiery mouth,

And make a balm of dittany
Which charms his heart and heals
His spirit of its fatigues.