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O seasons, O castles, What soul is without flaws? All its lore is known to me, Felicity, it enchants us all.

Arthur Rimbaud

One evening I sat Beauty on my knees – And I found her bitter – And I reviled her.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Beautiful Bitter Evening Myself Taste
Yet this is the watch by night. Let us all accept new strength, and real tenderness. And at dawn, armed with glowing patience, we will enter the cities of glory.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Acceptance Glory Night Patience Reality Strength Tender
And I am still alive-what though, my damnation is eternal. A man who deliberately mutilates himself is truly damned, is he not? I believe that I am in hell, therefore I am.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Alive Believe Forever Hell Man Myself True
I may die of earthly love, or of devotion.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Death Devotion Earth Love Myself
It was the voice of mad seas, roaring immense, That shattered your infant breast, too soft, too human.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Body Break Human Mad Soft Voice
Stronger than alcohol, vaster than poetry, Ferment the freckled red bitterness of love!
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Alcohol Bitter Love Poetry Strong
You feel on your lips a kiss Fluttering, a tiny scrap of life.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Feeling Life Lips Small Yourself
Idle youth, enslaved to everything; by being too sensitive I have wasted my life.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Life Myself Sensitive Wasted Time Youth
Oh! If only we were naked now, and free to watch our protruding parts align; To whisper – both of us – in ecstasy!
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Freedom Happiness Naked See Sex
Genius is the recovery of childhood at will.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Childhood Discover Genius
A thousand Dreams within me softly burn: From time to time my heart is like some oak Whose blood runs golden where a branch is torn.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Blood Burn Dreams Heart Myself Soft Time Tree
As for me, I am intact; and I don’t care.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Care Myself Philosophy
Whose hearts must I break? What lies must I maintain? – Through whose blood am I to wade ?
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Blood Break Heart Lying Myself
In the great glasshouses streaming with condensation, the children in mourning-dress beheld marvels.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Appearance Children Fashion Greatness
The poet makes himself a voyant through a long, immense reasoned deranging of all his senses. All the forms of love, of suffering, of madness; he tries to find himself, he exhausts in himself all the poisons, to keep only their quintessences.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Himself Journey Poet Poison Travel
I went out under the sky, Muse! and I was your vassal.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Myself Sky Under

O seasons, O castles, What soul is without flaws? All its lore is known to me, Felicity, it enchants us all.

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O seasons, O castles, What soul is without flaws? All its lore is known to me, Felicity, it enchants us all.

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