The Pipe
I am a writer's pipe; you see In looking at my dusky face, Complexion of the Kaffir race, My master makes good use of me. When he is full of grief and gloom I smoke as if I were a shack With supper stewing in the back To feed the ploughman coming home. I cradle and enwrap his soul Within the blue and moving net That from my fiery mouth uncoils, And is healing balm the rolls To charm his weary heart, and let His spirit rest from heavy toils.
AI analysis available. Enable JavaScript to interact.
About this line
"I am a writer's pipe; you see..."
Exploring the themes of classic, Charles Baudelaire delivers a powerful performance in "The Pipe"... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...