My Bohemian Existence

My Bohemian Existence

I went off
with my hands in my torn coat pockets;

my overcoat too was becoming ideal;

I travelled beneath the sky,

Muse! and I was your vassal;

Oh dear me! what marvellous loves

I dreamed of! My only pair of breeches

had a big hole in them. —

Stragazing Tom Thumb,

I sowed my rhymes along the way.

My tavern was at the Sign of the Great Bear.

— My stars in the sky rustled softly.

And I listened to them, sitting on the road-sides

on those pleasant September evenings

while I felt drops of dew on my forehead

like vigorous wine; and while,

rhyming among the fantastical shadows,

I plucked the strings of a lyre

the elastics of my tattered boots,

one foot close to my heart!