Sensation

Arthur Rimbaud: Sensation


On the blue summer evenings, I shall go down the paths,
Getting pricked by the corn, crushing the short grass:
Dreamer, I'll feel the freshness at my feet.
I let the wind bathe my bare head.
I will not speak, I will not think anything:
But infinite love will come to my soul,
And I will go far, far away, like a gypsy,
By Nature, - happy as with a woman



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