My translation of Rimbaud's newly discovered poem

Bismarck’s Dream
(Fantasy)

It’s night time. Under his tent, full of silence and dream, Bismarck, a finger on the future of France reflected on his pipe emitting a blue thread… he meditates, his little bent index finger advanced from Rhin to Moselle, to the paper, Moselle to The Seine; from his finger nail, he scratched the paper imperceptibly around Strasbourg; he goes beyond. At Sarrebruke, in Wissem Bourge, in Woerth, in Sedan, it flinched away his little bent finger; he caresses Nancy, scratching Bitche and Phalsbourg, Metz line, tracing on the border of little broken lines– and he stops himself…

Triumphant, Bismarck covered from his index finger Alsace and Lorraine! Oh, under his yellow skull, such a delirium of misery! What delicious waves of smoke come from his pipe, blessed and happy!

Bismarck reflects, wait! A large black dot seems to stop his index finger, wriggling. Paris. So, his bad finger nail, scuffing, scuffing the paper, here there, with rage, finally stopping himself… his finger resting, half bent, still..
Paris! Paris! Then, the chap dreamed much, then opening, slowly drowsiness impairs him.. his forehead inclines itself towards the paper; mechanically, the embers of his pipe, escape from his lips, removing the ugly black dot…
Hi! Povero! By abandoning his poor head, his nose, Mr. Otto de Bismarck’s nose, plunged itself into the ardent embers Hi! Povero! Go povero! In the incandescent embers of his pipe, Hi! Povero! His index finger was on Paris! Finished, the glorious dream…

It was so kind, so spiritual, so happy, this nose of the first old diplomat. Hide, hide this nose! And so! My dear, when sharing the royal sauerkraut, you will enter the palace… with crimes of… the lady… in history; you will eternally bring your burnt, sooty nose between your senseless eyes.
Look here… don’t daydream away…