Con finezas tan nimias como libros o flores se plantan semillas de sonrisas que van a florecer entre las sombras.
Morir no es casi nada, algo pasado, pero vivir incluye el morir muchas veces sin tener al alivio de estar muerto.
Solamente el silencio nos da miedo. En la voz siempre hay algo que nos salva. Sin embargo, el silencio es lo infinito. No se le ve la cara.
Oh the Earth was made for lovers.
How dreary – to be – Somebody! How public – like a Frog – To tell one’s name – the livelong June – To an admiring Bog!
I tell you, it is a Suffering, to have a sea – no care how Blue – between your Soul, and you.
The thought is quiet as a flake, –.
Are nothing to the bee; His separation from his rose To him seems misery.
Reeling, through endless summer days, From inns of molten blue.
T was such a greedy, greedy wave That licked it from the coast;.
The heaven we chase.
Shadows hold their breath;.
Counts his nectars – enters, And is lost in balms!
How a small dusk crawls on the village.
The murmur of a bee.
Until the daffodil Unties her yellow bonnet.
Oh Susie, I would nestle close to your warm heart, and never hear the wind blow, or the storm beat, again. Is there any room there for me, or shall I wander away all homeless and alone? Thank you for loving me, darling...
I mourn this morning, Susie, that I have no sweet sunset to gild a page for you, nor any bay so blue – not even a little chamber way up in the sky, as yours is, to give me thoughts of heaven, which I would give to you. You know how I must write you, down, down, in the terrestrial – no sunset here, no stars; not even a bit of twilight which I may poetize – and send you!
When bumble-bees in solemn flight.
To subdue the bumble-bee!