Sensations…

Through the blue summer days, I shall travel all the ways,

Pricked by the ears of maize, trampling the dew:

A dreamer, I will gaze, as underfoot the coolness plays.

I’ll let the evening breeze drench my head anew.

I shall say – not a thing: I shall think – not a thing:

But an infinite love will swell in my soul,

And far off I shall go, a bohemian,

Through Nature – as happy, as if I had a girl.

Arthur Rimbaud, 1870