One night, wine sang in the bottles:
"O woman disowned, from my prison of glass
And red sealing wax, to you I give
A song of light and sisterhood.

I know how, on the flaming fell,
It takes murderous toil under a baking sun
To give me life and soul.
Gratitude. To you I won't be vicious:

Such joy to tumble down the throat
Of a woman like you, exhausted by work.
Your warm belly's my sweet rest:
Better pleasure there than in the cold vault.

Can you hear sabbath canticles
singing out in my breast, sobbing with hope?
Elbows plunked on table, sleeves rolled,
Worship me and be contented,

I'll ignite your ravished husband's eyes;
To your daughter I'll return luster and mettle
And be for her, frail wrestler of life,
The oil for her muscles.

Into you I—fruity ambrosia—fall,
Precious seed sown by the Sower,
So from our amour grows poetry,
Spurting towards God like a flower."

              after "L'Âme du vin" by Charles Baudelaire