Arthur Rimbaud

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

Ma Boheme - Poem by Arthur Rimbaud

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

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Poem Submitted: Saturday, April 3, 2010

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