There might be his better, more profound and ground-breaking poems. I mean, I know there are, because I've read every and each one of them and few of his works I even translated. But somehow this little sonnet stayed with me ever since the first read. The broken rhythm, the line shifting, and finally - the twist. He turned the sonnet composition inside out. All while he was just 16 years old. Ladies and gents, let's spend une saison en enfer* with Arthur Rimbaud and his brilliant brilliant troubled mind.
