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Arthur Rimbaud - Song Of The Highest Tower
Work rating: Low

Idle youth 
Enslaved to everything, 
By being too sensitive 
I have wasted my life. 
Ah ! Let the time come 
When hearts are enamoured. 

I said to myself : let be, 
And let no one see you : 
Do without the promise 
Of higher joys. 
Let nothing delay you, 
Majestic retirement. 
I have endured so long 
That I have forgotten everything ; 
Fear and suffering 
Have flown to the skies. 

And morbid thirst 
Darkens my veins. 
Thus the meadow 
Given over to oblivion, 
Grown up, and flowering 
With frankincense and tares 
To the wild buzzing 
Of a hundred filthy flies. 

Oh ! the thousand bereavements 
Of the poor soul 
Which possesses only the image 
Of Our Lady ! Can one pray 
To the Virgin Mary ?

Idle youth 
Enslaved by everything, 
By being too sensitive 
I have wasted my life. 
Ah ! Let the time come 
When hearts are enamoured !
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