Long after the days and the seasons, and people and countries. <br />The banner of raw meat against the silk of seas and arctic flowers; <br />(they do not exist). Recovered from the old fanfares of heroism,-- <br />which still attack the heart and head,-- far from the old assassins. <br />-- Oh! the banner of raw meat against the silk of seas and arctic flowers; <br />(they do not exist).-- Bliss! Live embers raining in gusts of frost.-- <br />Bliss!-- fires in the rain of the wind of diamonds <br />flung out by the earth's heart eternally carbonized for us. <br />-- O world! (Far from the old retreats and the old flames, still heard, still felt.) <br />Fire and foam. Magic, veering of chasms and clash of icicles against the stars. <br />O bliss, O world, O music! And forms, sweat, eyes <br />and long hair floating there. And white tears boiling,-- <br />O bliss!-- and the feminine voice reaching to the bottom of volcanoes <br />and grottos of the arctic seas. The banner...<br /><br />Arthur Rimbaud<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/barbarian-3/
