I. <br /> <br />No one's serious at seventeen. <br />--On beautiful nights when beer and lemonade <br />And loud, blinding cafés are the last thing you need <br />--You stroll beneath green lindens on the promenade. <br /> <br />Lindens smell fine on fine June nights! <br />Sometimes the air is so sweet that you close your eyes; <br />The wind brings sounds--the town is near-- <br />And carries scents of vineyards and beer. . . <br /> <br />II. <br /> <br />--Over there, framed by a branch <br />You can see a little patch of dark blue <br />Stung by a sinister star that fades <br />With faint quiverings, so small and white. . . <br /> <br />June nights! Seventeen!--Drink it in. <br />Sap is champagne, it goes to your head. . . <br />The mind wanders, you feel a kiss <br />On your lips, quivering like a living thing. . . <br /> <br />III. <br /> <br />The wild heart Crusoes through a thousand novels <br />--And when a young girl walks alluringly <br />Through a streetlamp's pale light, beneath the ominous shadow <br />Of her father's starched collar. . . <br /> <br />Because as she passes by, boot heels tapping, <br />She turns on a dime, eyes wide, <br />Finding you too sweet to resist. . . <br />--And cavatinas die on your lips. <br /> <br />IV. <br /> <br />You're in love. Off the market till August. <br />You're in love.--Your sonnets make Her laugh. <br />Your friends are gone, you're bad news. <br />--Then, one night, your beloved, writes. . .! <br /> <br />That night. . .you return to the blinding cafés; <br />You order beer or lemonade. . . <br />--No one's serious at seventeen <br />When lindens line the promenade.<br /><br />Arthur Rimbaud<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/novel/
