What Boots It, Heart (Rimbaud)

What boots it, heart,
If blood chambers and embers
Assasinate thousands reverbing cries
While tears of the Infernal overturn
All order, whilst among debris the breeze
Strews her revenge?

Nothing!

What's more -- this is our will,
Lust. Let the robber barons, rulers,
Senates, Power,
-- Justice! -- History! --
Drop! This is our due:
The blood, the golden flame.

Let all war, all venge, and terror all,
Soul! Roast everything on teeth: Yes!
Piss off, republics of the earth,
Your emperors, your regiments and colonists,
Your populace, enough! And who could stoke

The turbulence of fire's rage, if not we
And those we claim as kin? For us,
My novel friends -- this is our dividend:
To never labor, veins of flame!
America, Europe and Asia: piss off.

The vengeful march has trampled all:
Cities and campaigns! -- We too
Will be erased: the vulcans leap,
The oceans bend...Ah! My friends!
(I believe in my heart, they are my friends):

Nigger nothings, if we went...Go!
Go! Misery! I am trembling, the old earth
Is more and more upon us! It
Founders. This is nothing. Here I am

And rest.