I went off with my hands in my torn coat pockets; <br />my overcoat too was becoming ideal; <br />I travelled beneath the sky, <br />Muse! and I was your vassal; <br /> <br />Oh dear me! what marvellous loves <br />I dreamed of! My only pair of breeches <br />had a big hole in them. -- <br /> <br />Stragazing Tom Thumb, <br />I sowed my rhymes along the way. <br />My tavern was at the Sign of the Great Bear. <br />-- My stars in the sky rustled softly. <br />And I listened to them, sitting on the road-sides <br />on those pleasant September evenings <br />while I felt drops of dew on my forehead <br />like vigorous wine; and while, <br />rhyming among the fantastical shadows, <br /> <br />I plucked the strings of a lyre <br />the elastics of my tattered boots, <br />one foot close to my heart!<br /><br />Arthur Rimbaud<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-bohemian-existence/
