Her Hair by Charles Baudelaire. Part 1 of 3. O fleece, that down the neck waves to the nape! O curls! O perfume nonchalant and rare! O ecstasy! To fill this alcove shape With memories that in these tresses sleep, I would shake them like penions in the air! Languorous Asia, burning Africa, And a far world, defunct almost, absent, Within your aromatic forest stay! As other souls on music drift away, Mine, O my love! still floats upon your scent. I shall go there where, full of sap, both tree And man swoon in the heat of the southern climates; Strong tresses be the swell that carries me! I dream upon your sea of amber Of dazzling sails, of oarsmen, masts, and flames: