L'âme du vin -- Charles Baudelaire
l'âme du vin chantait dans les bouteilles :
The Soul of Wine
One night, wine's soul sang out from deep in the bottle,
"Man, unto you I pitch, O dear disowned,
Beneath my prison glass and crimson seals,
A songful of light and brotherhood!
I know what it’s worth, on a blazing hill,
Of pain and sweat and broiling sun
To bring about my life and gift me soul;
But I shan’t be mean or churlish,
For I sense immense joy when I tumble down
The gullet of a man by toil worn down,
And his warm breast is a sweet tomb
Where I’m far cozier than down my chill cellars.
Can you hear the thrum of Sunday ditties
And hope atwitter in my throbbing breast?
Elbows on the table and rolling up your sleeves,
You'll glory be me and be satisfied;
I'll light up the eyes of your elated wife;
To your son grant rosy fitness,
And will be, for that frail athlete of life,
The oil that stiffens smackdown muscles.
Into you I'll fall, vegetal ambrosia,
The eternal Sower's precious-sown grain,
That, from our love, a poem may be born,
That’ll shoot up to God like a rare flower!”