Sensation
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
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