the sideboard

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

Its drawers are full, a final resting place
For scented, yellowed linens, scraps of clothes
For wives or children, worn and faded bows,
Grandmothers’ collars made of figured lace;

There you will find old medals, locks of gray
Or yellow hair, and portraits, and a dried bouquet
Whose perfume mingles with the smell of fruit.

– O sideboard of old, you know a great deal more
And could tell us your tales, yet you stand mute
As we slowly open your old dark door.

Arthur Rimbaud

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

eternity

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

Arthur Rimbaud

feelings

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