The poor omnibus driver under the tin canopy, <br />warming a huge chilblain inside his glove, <br />follows his heavy omnibus along the left bank, <br />and from his inflated groin thrusts away the moneybag. <br /> <br />And while [in the] soft shadow <br />where there are policemen, <br />the respectable interior of the bus looks at the moon <br />in the deep sky rocking <br />among its green cotton wool, <br />in spite of the Edict <br />and the still delicate hour, <br />and the fact that the bus is <br />returning to the Odeon, <br />the lewd wanton utters piercing cries <br />at the darkened square! <br />Francois Coppee<br /><br />Arthur Rimbaud<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/state-of-siege/
