Arthur Rimbaud

"The flag goes with the foul landscape, and our jargon muffles the drum
" In the great centers we'll nurture the most cynical prostitution
We'll massacre logical revolts
In spicy and drenched lands

These are cities
And this is the people for whom these Alleghenys and Lebanons of dream have been raised
Castles of wood and crystal move on tracks and invisible winches
Old craters ringed with mammoth statues and coppery palms roar...

Black in the snow and fog, at the great lighted airshaft, their bums rounded, on their knees, five little ones - what anguish
- watch the baker making the heavy white bread
They see the strong white arm that shapes the grey dough and set...

As soon as the idea of the Deluge had subsided,
A hare stopped in the clover and swaying flowerbells, and said a prayer to the rainbow, through the spider's web
Oh
the precious stones that began to hide,-- and the flowers that alrea...

Cap of silk moiré, little wand of ivory,
Clothes very dark
Paul watches the cupboard, sticks out little tongue at pear,
Prepares, gives a poke, and squitters

In the bright lime-tree
Dies a fainting mort
But lively
Flutters among the currant bushes

My hunger,
Anne,
Anne, flee on your donkey
If I have any taste, it s for hardly anything but earth and stones

I am an ephemeral and a not too discontented citizen of a metropolis considered modern because all known taste has been evaded in the furnishings and the exterior of the houses as well as in the layout of the city
Here you will fail to detect...

On the blue summer evenings,
I shall go down the paths,
Getting pricked by the corn, crushing the short grass :
In a dream I shall feel its coolness on my feet

I spend my life sitting - like an angel in the hands of a barber - a deeply fluted beer mug in my fist, belly and neck curved, a Gambier pipe in my teeth, under the air swelling with impalpable veils of smoke
Like the warm excrements in an ol...

When a child,certain skies sharpened my vision:all their characters were reflected in my face
The Phenomena were roused
—At present,the eternal inflection of momentsand the infinity of mathematicsdrives me through this world whereI meet ...

It is a high, carved sideboard made of oak
The dark old wood, like old folks, seems kind;
Its drawers are open, and its odours
The darkness with the scent of strong old wine