“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 vassal ;
Oh dear me! what marvellous loves I dreamed of !
My only pair of breeches had a big whole in them.
Stargazing Tom Thumb, I sowed rhymes along my 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 ! ”