Novel by Arthur Rimbaud
I.
No one’s serious at seventeen.
–On beautiful nights when beer and lemonade
And loud, blinding cafes are the last thing you need
–You stroll beneath green lindens on the promenade.
Lindens 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 vineyards and beer…