I like Rimbaud quite a lot:

  "The star wept rose-colored [. . .]"
  
  The star wept rose-colored in the heart of your ears,
  The infinite rolled white from your nape to your loins
  The sea turned ruddy at your vermilion nipples
  And Man bled black on your sovereign flank.

Another:

  "The wolf howled under the leaves [. . .]"
  
  The wolf howled under the leaves
  As he spat out the fine feathers
  Of his meal of fowl:
  Like him I consume myself.
  
  Lettuce and fruit
  Wait only to be picked;
  But the spider of the hedge
  Eats only violets.
  
  Let me sleep! Let me boil
  At the altars of Solomon.
  Boiling water courses over the rust,
  And mixes with the Kidron.

These are translated from the French by Wallace Fowlie.