Travelling Bohemians|Charles Baudelaire

The prophetic tribe of the ardent eyes

Yesterday they took the road, holding their babies

On their backs, delivering to fierce appetites

The always ready treasure of pendulous breasts

The men stick their feet out, waving their guns

Alongside the caravan where they tremble together

Scanning the sky their eyes are weighted down

In mourning for absent chimeras

At the bottom of his sandy retreat, a cricket

Watched passing, redoubles his song

Cybele, who loves, adds more flower

Makes fountains out of rock and blossoms from desert

Opening up before these travelers in a yawn—

A familiar empire, the inscrutable future