The pigeons which flutter in the meadow, <br />the game which runs and sees in the dark, <br />the water animals, the animal enslaved, <br />the last butterflies!.. also are thirsty. <br />But to dissolve where that wandering cloud is dissolving - <br />Oh! Favoured by what is fresh! <br />To expire in those damp violets <br />whose awakening fills these woods?<br /><br />Arthur Rimbaud<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/conclusion-11/
