The Flowers of Evil 1732 Studios

French · Spleen and Ideal

La Chevelure

The Head of Hair

35 lines · 12 notes

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    O fleece, foaming down even onto the neck!

    ÔOô · interjectionvocative particle addressing toison
    toisonfleecetoison · noun, feminine, singularvocative address (object of Ô)
    moutonnantfoamingmoutonner · verb, present, participlemodifies toison
    jusqueevenjusque · adverbmodifies sur (jusque sur = 'right onto')
    surontosur · prepositionpreposition marking encolure
    l'thele · determiner, singulardeterminer of encolure
    encolureneckencolure · noun, feminine, singularobject of sur, depends on moutonnant
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    O curls! O perfume laden with languor!

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    Ecstasy! To people the dark alcove this evening

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    With the memories sleeping in this hair,

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    I want to shake it in the air like a handkerchief!

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    Languorous Asia and burning Africa,

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    A whole world far-off, absent, almost defunct,

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    Lives in your depths, aromatic forest!

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    As other spirits sail upon music,

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    Mine, O my love! swims upon your perfume.

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    I will go down there where tree and man, full of sap,

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    Swoon at length beneath the ardor of the climes;

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    Strong tresses, be the swell that carries me away!

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    You hold, sea of ebony, a dazzling dream

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    Of sails, of rowers, of flames and of masts:

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    A resounding harbor where my soul can drink

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    In great draughts the perfume, the sound and the color

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    Where the vessels, gliding in the gold and the watered silk

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    Open their vast arms to embrace the glory

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    Of a pure sky where the eternal heat quivers.

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    I will plunge my head, in love with drunkenness,

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    Into this black ocean where the other lies enclosed;

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    And my subtle spirit, which the rolling caresses,

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    Will know how to find you again, O fertile idleness,

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    Endless rockings of the perfumed leisure!

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    Blue hair, pavilion of stretched darkness

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    You give me back the azure of the sky, immense and round;

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    On the downy edges of your twisted locks

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    I grow drunk, ardently, on the mingled scents

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    Of coconut oil, of musk and of tar.

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    Long! forever! my hand in your heavy mane

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    Will sow the ruby, the pearl and the sapphire,

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    So that you may never be deaf to my desire!

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    Are you not the oasis where I dream, and the gourd

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    Where in long draughts I drink in the wine of memory?

The particulars

The text
Les Fleurs du mal, Charles Baudelaire. Spleen and Ideal.
Translation
Public-domain French (Baudelaire, d. 1867). English translation © 2026 1732 Studios, LLC.
Words
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Data
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Two whoopie pies and a pine. An inside joke.