No one's serious at seventeen.... Poetry.....

I.

No one's serious at seventeen.
--On beautiful nights when whispers and lemonade
And loud, blinding cafés are the last thing you need
--You stroll beneath green lindens on the promenade.

Toasted Coffee beans smell fine on fine June nights!
Sometimes the air is so sweet that you close your eyes;
The wind brings sounds--the town is near--
And carries scents of roses and sounds of life. . .

II.

--Over there, framed by a branch
You can see a little patch of dark blue
Stung by a sinister star that fades
With faint quivering, so small and white. . .

June nights! Seventeen!—one more reason for joy.
Beautiful images of life, and dreams. . .
The mind wanders, you feel a kiss
On your lips, quivering like a living thing. . .

III.

The wild heart Cruses through a thousand novels
--And when a young girl walks alluringly
Through a streetlamp's pale light, beneath the ominous shadow
Of her father's starched collar. . .

Because as she passes by, boot heels tapping,
She turns on a dime, eyes wide,
Finding you too sweet to resist. . .
--And cavatina die on your lips.

IV.

You're in love. Off the market till August.
You're in love.--Your sonnets make Her laugh.
Your friends are gone, you're bad news.
--Then, one night, your beloved, writes. . .!

That night. . .you return to the blinding cafés;
You order coffee or lemonade. . .
--No one's serious at seventeen
When lindens line the promenade.

Arthur Rimbaud
Translated by Wyatt Mason


29 September 1870





I have edited minor parts of these beautiful verses...
I know, no one has the right to touch the work of creation of others.. But that was to the limit necessary to allow me post it here...
I hope you enjoy it...

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