Sensation

On the blue summer evenings, I shall go down the paths,

Getting pricked by the corn, crushing the short grass:

In a dream I shall feel its coolness on my feet.

I shall let the wind bathe my bare head.

 

I shall not speak, I shall think about nothing:

But endless love will mount in my soul;

And I shall travel far, very far, like a gypsy,

Through the countryside – as happy as if I were with a woman.

 

Arthur Rimbaud 

March 1870.

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