Arthur Rimbaud Poems

Perhaps an Evening awaits me
when I shall drink I peace in some old Town,
and die the happier: since I am patient!
...

My sad heart leaks at the poop,
My heart covered in filthy shag:
They squirt it with jets of soup,
...

Jeanne-Marie has strong hands; dark hands tanned by the summer,
pale hands like dead hands. Are they the hands of Donna Juana?
...

At four o'clock on a summer morning,
The Sleep of love still lasts.
Under the spinneys the dawn disperses scents
Of the festive night.
...

The room is open to the turquoise blue sky;
no room here: boxes and bins!
Outside the wall is overgrown with birthwort
...

Lord, when the meadowland is cold,
and when in the downcast hamlets the long Angeluses are silent..
...

And the mother, closing the work-book
Went off, proud, satisfied, not seeing,
...

Spring is evidently here;
for the ascent of Thiers
and Picard from the green Estates lays
its splendours wide open! O May!
...

When the child's forehead, full of red torments,
Implores the white swarm of indistinct dreams,
...

I went off with my hands in my torn coat pockets; my overcoat too was
becoming ideal;
...