Tear

Poem by Arthur Rimbaud Collection Derniers versPeriod 19th century

Far from birds, from flocks, from village girls,
I was drinking, crouched in some heather
Surrounded by tender hazel groves,
In a warm and green afternoon mist.

What could I drink in this young Oise,
Voiceless elms, grass without flowers, overcast sky.
What was I drawing from the gourd of taro?
Some golden liquor, insipid and sweat-inducing.

Thus, I would have been a bad inn sign.
Then the storm changed the sky, until evening.
They were black countries, lakes, poles,
Colonnades under the blue night, stations.

The water of the woods was lost on virgin sands,
The wind, from the sky, threw ice cubes at the ponds…
Yet! like a fisherman of gold or shells,
To say that I did not care to drink!

Arthur Rimbaud

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