BLACK CAT POEMS
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translated by Jethro Bithell
IN summer evenings blue, pricked by the wheat
On rustic paths the thin grass I shall tread,
And feel its freshness underneath my feet,
And, dreaming, let the wind bathe my bare head.
I shall not speak, nor think, but, walking slow
, I shall rove with
As gipsies wander, where, they do not know,
Happy as one walks by a woman's side.
poems by Arthur Rimbaud