the breeze

This cozy cotton bower conceals
Zephyr wrapped in sweet perfume;
In a silk and woolen womb,
Zephyr sleeps with laughing heels.

When the Zephyr lifts his wing
In his cotton -down retreat,
When he flies where robins sing,
His soft breath smells so sweet!

O quintessential breeze!
O distillate of love!
Day’s dew as it dries
Perfumes the sky above!

Jesus! Joseph! Jesus! Mary!
This odor, like a condor’s wing,
Cradles the devotionary…
It sweetens us and makes us sing!

Arthur Rimbaud


Found again. What?
The sea gone
With the sun.

Sentinel soul,
We’ll breathe the truth
Of vacant night
And burning day.

From people’s praise,
Vulgar élan,
You free yourself,
Fly where you can.

Since from just you,
Embers of silk,
Rises The Task
With no ‘at lasts’.

There, no hope,
No new start.
Truth through patience
Torture for sure.

Found again. What?
The sea gone
With the sun.

Arthur Rimbaud


On a blue summer night I will go through the fields,
Through the overgrown paths, in the soft scented air;
I will feel the new grass cool and sharp on my feet,
I will let the wind blow softly through my hair.

I will not say a word, I will not think a thing,
But an infinite love will set my heart awhirl,
And I will wander far, like a wild vagabond,
Throughout Nature – happy as if I had a girl.

Arthur Rimbaud