On blue summer evenings, I shall go down the paths, Pricked by the corn, crushing the short grass : In a dream I shall feel its coolness on my feet. I shall let the wind bathe my bare head. I shall not speak, I shall think about nothing : But endless love will sorge in my soul ; And I shall travel far, very far, like a gipsy, Through the countryside - as happy as if I were with a woman. March, 1870 Translated by Oliver Bernard : Arthur Rimbaud, Collected Poems (1962)