Last Lines

So long as the blade has not
Cut off that brain,
That white, green and fatty parcel,
Whose steam is never fresh,

(Ah! He, should cut off his
Nose, his lips, his ears,
His belly! And abandon

But no, truly,I believe that so long as
The blade to his head,
And the stone to his side,
And the flame to his guts

Have not done execution, the tiresome
Child, the so stupid animal,
Must never for an instant cease
To cheat and betray

And like a Rocky Mountain cat;
To make all places stink!
But still when he dies, O my God!
May there rise up some prayer!

- As translated by Oliver Bernard: Arthur Rimbaud, Collected Poems (1962)

French version