Blackcurrant river rolls unknown in strange valleys; <br />the voices of a hundred rooks go with it, <br />the true benevolent voice of angles: <br />with the wide movements of the fir woods <br />when several winds sweep down. <br /> <br />Everything flows with [the] horrible mysteries of ancient landscapes; <br />of strongholds visited, of large estates: <br />it is along these banks that you can hear <br />the dead passions of errant knights: <br />but how the wind is wholesome! <br /> <br />Let the traveler look through these clerestories: <br />he will journey on more bravely. <br />Forest soldiers whom the Lord sends, <br />dear delightful rooks! Drive away from here the crafty peasant, <br />clinking glasses with his old stump of an arm.<br /><br />Arthur Rimbaud<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/blackcurrant-river/
