Ma Boheme

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 vassel; oh dear me! what marvellous loves I dreamed of! My only pair of breeches had a big hole in them.- Stargazing Tom Thumb, I sowed 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 like the strings of a lyre the elastics of my tattered boots, one foot close to my heart!