Charles Baudelaire. (№ 381205)

Who carved you out of the dark night,
What native Faust, the devil savanna?
You smell like musk and tobacco Havanna,
Midnight child, my idol fatal.
Neither the opium nor the hops to compete with you
I dare not, my demon; you're the land of promise,
Where sad my desires caravans
To the wells of your eyes are going to drink.