Ma Bohème [English translation]

I was going away, fists in my bursted pockets;

My cardigan as well was becamin ideal;

I was going under the sky, Muse! and I was loyal to you;

Oh! There! There! What an amount of splendid loves I have dreamt about!

My only pants had a wide hole

- Dreaming Tom Thumb, I was shelling in the running

Some rhymes. My inn was at Ursa Major

- My stars had a sweet frills to the sky

And I was listening to them, sitting on the side of the roads,

Those good evenings of September where I was feeling some drops

Of dew on my forehead, like a wine of vigor;

Where, rhyming in the middle of fantastic shadows,

Like lyres, I was pulling on the elastics

Of my hurt shoes, a foot near my heart!

• Artist:Arthur Rimbaud