Feeling
By the blue evenings of summer, I will go in the paths,
Picoté by corns, to press small grass:
Dreamer, I will smell freshness with my feet it.
I will let the wind bathe my naked head.
I will not speak, I will not think anything:
But the infinite love will assemble me in the heart,
And I will be far, well far, like a gipsy,
By Nature, - happy as with a woman.
March 1870. (Rimbaud)
cf. I looked up that French poet and from this poem, he doesn't sound very insane. I had the page translated to english. I'm young and naive so i'm not sure if my interpretation of the poem was correct. What do you make of it? Do you have any favorites?