One tendril astray upon the nape
Of a neck which star-revealed is white
Like an open-eyed tobacco-flower—
Frail thurible that fills the night
With the subtle intoxicating power
Of summer perfume. And you too—
Your scent intoxicates; the smell
Of clothes, of hair, the essence of you.
But for the ferments of Moselle.
I’ld swoon in the languor of your perfume,