Arthur Rimbaud

(20 October 1854 – 10 November 1891 / Charleville, Ardennes)

Arthur Rimbaud Poems

41. To Music (À La Musique) 4/3/2010
42. L'Idole.. Sonnet Du Trou Du Cul 4/3/2010
43. Those Who Sit 4/3/2010
44. The Runaways/ Les Effares 4/3/2010
45. Drunken Coachman 4/3/2010
46. Seascape (Marine) 4/3/2010
47. The Bridges 4/3/2010
48. To A Reason 4/3/2010
49. O Seasons, O Chateaux 4/3/2010
50. The Parents 4/3/2010
51. Tear 4/3/2010
52. The Transfixed 4/3/2010
53. Vowels 4/3/2010
54. The Sun Has Wept Rose 4/3/2010
55. Ruts 4/3/2010
56. The Sisters Of Charity 4/3/2010
57. Sun And Flesh (Credo In Unam) 4/3/2010
58. Ma Boheme 4/3/2010
59. The Seekers Of Lice 4/3/2010
60. Parisian War Song 4/3/2010
61. Poets At Seven Years 4/3/2010
62. The Rooks 4/3/2010
63. Young Couple 4/3/2010
64. Pleasant Thought For The Morning 4/3/2010
65. Historic Evening 4/3/2010
66. Jeanne-Marie's Hands 4/3/2010
67. The Poor Man Dreams 4/3/2010
68. Lives 4/3/2010
69. Shame 4/3/2010
70. Friends 4/3/2010
71. The Soul 4/3/2010
72. Song Of The Highest Tower 4/3/2010
73. The Ancient Beasts 4/3/2010
74. Youth 4/3/2010
75. Evening Prayer 4/3/2010
76. Tale 4/3/2010
77. Sentences (Phrases) 4/3/2010
78. Common Nocturne 4/3/2010
79. From 'The Cupboard' (Le Buffet) 4/3/2010
80. Fairy 4/3/2010
Best Poem of Arthur Rimbaud

Novel

I.

No one's serious at seventeen.
--On beautiful nights when beer and lemonade
And loud, blinding cafés are the last thing you need
--You stroll beneath green lindens on the promenade.

Lindens smell fine on fine June nights!
Sometimes the air is so sweet that you close your eyes;
The wind brings sounds--the town is near--
And carries scents of vineyards and beer. . .

II.

--Over there, framed by a branch
You can see a little patch of dark blue
Stung by a sinister star that fades
With faint quiverings, so small and white. . ...

Read the full of Novel

Sensation

In the blue summer evenings, I will go along the paths,
And walk over the short grass, as I am pricked by the wheat:
Daydreaming I will feel the coolness on my feet.
I will let the wind bathe my bare head.
I will not speak, I will have no thoughts:
But infinite love will mount in my soul;
And I will go far, far off, like a gypsy,
Through the country side-joyous as if I were with a woman.

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