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Arthur Rimbaud - Ma Boheme
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I went off with my hands in my torn coat pockets; my overcoat too was 
becoming ideal; 

I travelled beneath the sky, Muse! and I was your vassel; oh dear me! 
what marvellous loves I dreamed of! 

My only pair of breeches had a big hole in them.- Stargazing Tom 
Thumb, I sowed rhymes along the way. 

My tavern was at the Sign of the Great Bear. - My stars in the sky 
rustled softly. 

And I listened to them, sitting on the road-sides on those pleasant 
September evenings while I felt drops of dew on my forehead like 
vigorous wine; 

and while, rhyming among the fantastical shadows, I plucked like the 
strings of a lyre the elastics of my tattered boots, one foot close to my 
heart!
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