Michel and Christine, Poem by Arthur Rimbaud

Poem by Arthur Rimbaud Collection Derniers versPeriod 19th century

Damn it, then, if the sun leaves these shores!
Fly, bright deluge! Here comes the shadow of the roads.
In the willows, in the old courtyard of honor,
The storm first throws its large drops.

O hundred lambs, blond soldiers of the idyll,
Aqueducts, thin heather,
Flee! plain, deserts, meadow, horizons
Are in the red toilette of the storm!

Black dog, brown shepherd whose cloak engulfs,
Flee the hour of superior lightning;
Blond flock, when here swim shadow and sulfur,
Try to descend to better retreats.

But I, Lord! here my spirit flies,
After the skies icy with red, under the
Celestial clouds that run and fly
Over a hundred Solognes long as a railway.

There are a thousand wolves, a thousand wild seeds
That carries away, not without loving the bindweeds,
This religious stormy afternoon
Over ancient Europe where a hundred hordes will go!

Afterwards, the moonlight! everywhere the moor,
Redden and their brows to the black skies, the warriors
Ride slowly their pale steeds!
The pebbles ring under this proud band!

– And will I see the yellow wood and the clear valley,
The Bride with blue eyes, the man with red brow, O Gaul,
And the white Paschal Lamb, at their dear feet,
– Michel and Christine, – and Christ! – end of the Idyll.

Arthur Rimbaud

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