The Poet of the Week is Arthur Rimbaud. Just because his poems are gorgeous and passionate and sexy.
Sort of like Saint Marty.
by: Arthur Rimbaud
I have kissed the summer dawn. Before the palaces, nothing moved. The
water lay dead. Battalions of shadows still kept the forest road.
I walked, walking warm and vital breath, While stones watched, and wings rose soundlessly.
My first adventure, in a path already gleaming With a clear pale light, Was a flower who told me its name.
I laughted at the blond Wasserfall That threw its hair across the pines: On the silvered summit, I came upon the goddess.
Then one by one, I lifted her veils. In the long walk, waving my arms.
the meadow, where I betrayed her to the cock. In the heart of town she
fled among the steeples and domes, And I hunted her, scrambling like a
beggar on marble wharves.
Above the road, near a thicket of
laurel, I caught her in her gathered veils, And smelled the scent of her
immense body. Dawn and the child fell together at the bottom of the
When I awoke, it was noon.