Brussels, poem by Arthur Rimbaud

Poem by Arthur Rimbaud Collection Derniers versThemes CityPeriod 19th century

Beds of amaranth stretching to
The pleasant palace of Jupiter.
– I know it is You who, in these places,
Mingles your blue, almost Sahara!

Then, as rose and fir of the sun
And liana have here their enclosed games,
Cage of the little widow!…
What
Troops of birds, O ia io, ia io!…

– Calm houses, ancient passions!
Kiosk of the Madwoman for affection.
After the buttocks of the rosebushes, balcony
Shady and very low of the Juliette.

– The Juliette, that recalls the Henriette,
Charming railway station,
In the heart of a mount, as at the bottom of an orchard
Where a thousand blue devils dance in the air!

Green bench where sings in the stormy paradise,
On the guitar, the white Irishwoman.
Then, from the Guianese dining room,
Chatter of children and cages.

Window of the duke who makes me think
Of the poison of snails and of boxwood
That sleeps here below in the sun.
And then
It’s too beautiful! too! Let us keep our silence.

– Boulevard without movement or commerce,
Mute, all drama and all comedy,
Infinite reunion of scenes
I know you and admire you in silence.

Arthur Rimbaud

Translation generated by Poésies 123 with assistance from the deepseek-chat artificial-intelligence model.

Text published on Poésies 123: https://www.poesies123.com/en/poem-brussels-arthur-rimbaud/