Translation Of Arthur Rimbaud's 'ma Bohème (My Bohemian) ' Poem by Cambria Collins

Arthur Rimbaud:

My bohemian

I went away, fists in my torn pockets;
My coat was, as well, becoming ideal;
I went under the sky, Muse, and I was your servant;
Oh! of what splendid loves I dreamt

My unique breaches had a large hole.
A dreaming Little-Tom-Thumb, I spewed forth, in my run,
Rhymes. My tavern was under the Great Bear.
My stars in the sky had a gentle frill

And I listened to them, sitting at the edge of roads
Those soft September nights where I felt drops
Of dew on my forehead like a vigorous wine;

Where, rhyming amidst the fantastic shadows,
Like lyres, I pulled elastics
From my injured shoes, one foot near my heart!