'The Cupboard’
By Arthur Rimbaud
A large carved cupboard of white oak
emanates that relaxed gentle air
Old people have; open, it's kindly
shadows give off fragrances like fine
wine, it overflows with a jumble
of quaint frayed things: sweet
yellowed linen, torn women's clothes,
faded laces, grandmother's shawls
embroidered with griffins, children's shirts;
there must be lockets buried somewhere,
locks of white or blond hair, portraits
and dried flowers whose odors mingle
with the smell of apples and pears. O old-fashioned
cupboard, what stories you must know, it's obvious
you'd love to tell them each time your wide doors
slowly open and you clear your throat.
