In winter we’ll ride in a carriage of rose,
ringed all around with cushions of blue.
We’ll be happy there, so sweetly enclosed
in a nest of mad kisses I’ve gathered for you.
You’ll shut your eyes to the windowpane
to keep the laughing shadows from sight,
the snarling monsters crawling through the frame,
the black demons and black wolves of the night.
Then, suddenly, you’ll feel the peck
of a kiss like a spider upon your neck
and you’ll shiver with a thrill,
as you yell, “Catch it!” turning me your face.
And we’ll slowly search for the hiding place
of the beast that never keeps still …
Arthur RimbaudTranslated from French by Paul Weinfield, © 2013