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I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my
heart)I am never without it (anywhere
I go you go,my dear; and whatever is done by only
me is your doing,my darling)
I fear no fate (for you are my fate,my sweet)I want no world (for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
I fear no fate (for you are my fate,my sweet)I want no world (for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root
and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which
growshigher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)”
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close. But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)”
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close. But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.” Break a vase, and the love that
reassembles the fragments is stronger than that love which took its symmetry
for granted when it was whole .Nor
do we merely feel these essences for one short hour no, even as these trees
that whisper round a temple become soon dear as the temples self, so does the
moon, the passion posey, glories infinite, Haunt us till they become a cheering
light unto our souls and bound to us so fast, that wheather there be shine, or
gloom o'er cast, They always must be with us, or we die. American
poetry has been part of a culture in conflict....We are a people tending toward
democracy at the level of hope; at another level, the economy of the nation,
the empire of business within the republic, both include in their basic premise
the idea of perpetual warfare” To use the term 'clerk' as an
insult is simply a banal vulgarity; Pessoa and Svevo, however would have
welcomed it as a just attribute of the poet. The latter does not resemble
Achilles or Diomedes, ranting on their war-chariots, but is more like Ulysses,
who knows that he is no one. He manifests himself in this revelation of
impersonality that conceals him in the prolixity of things, as travelling
erases the traveller in the confused murmur of the street,
skirmishes against the author
raging along the borders of every page
in tiny black script.
If I could just get my hands on you,
Kierkegaard, or Conor Cruise O'Brien,
they seem to say,
I would bolt the door and beat some logic into your head.
Other comments are more offhand, dismissive -
Nonsense." "Please!" "HA!!" -
that kind of thing.
I remember once looking up from my reading,
my thumb as a bookmark,
trying to imagine what the person must look like
who wrote "Don't be a ninny"
alongside a paragraph in The Life of Emily Dickinson.
Students are more modest
needing to leave only their splayed footprints
along the shore of the page.
One scrawls "Metaphor" next to a stanza of Eliot's.
Another notes the presence of "Irony"
fifty times outside the paragraphs of A Modest Proposal.
Or they are fans who cheer from the empty bleachers,
Hands cupped around their mouths.
Absolutely," they shout
to Duns Scotus and James Baldwin.
Yes." "Bull's-eye." "My man!"
What
lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning, but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.
Sometimes the notes are ferocious,I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning, but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.
skirmishes against the author
raging along the borders of every page
in tiny black script.
If I could just get my hands on you,
Kierkegaard, or Conor Cruise O'Brien,
they seem to say,
I would bolt the door and beat some logic into your head.
Other comments are more offhand, dismissive -
Nonsense." "Please!" "HA!!" -
that kind of thing.
I remember once looking up from my reading,
my thumb as a bookmark,
trying to imagine what the person must look like
who wrote "Don't be a ninny"
alongside a paragraph in The Life of Emily Dickinson.
Students are more modest
needing to leave only their splayed footprints
along the shore of the page.
One scrawls "Metaphor" next to a stanza of Eliot's.
Another notes the presence of "Irony"
fifty times outside the paragraphs of A Modest Proposal.
Or they are fans who cheer from the empty bleachers,
Hands cupped around their mouths.
Absolutely," they shout
to Duns Scotus and James Baldwin.
Yes." "Bull's-eye." "My man!"
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Love poems for Her Tumblr Tagalog for Him Images In Hindi for Husband in Tamil Pics Photos Wallpapers
Love poems for Her Tumblr Tagalog for Him Images In Hindi for Husband in Tamil Pics Photos Wallpapers
Love poems for Her Tumblr Tagalog for Him Images In Hindi for Husband in Tamil Pics Photos Wallpapers
Love poems for Her Tumblr Tagalog for Him Images In Hindi for Husband in Tamil Pics Photos Wallpapers
Love poems for Her Tumblr Tagalog for Him Images In Hindi for Husband in Tamil Pics Photos Wallpapers
Love poems for Her Tumblr Tagalog for Him Images In Hindi for Husband in Tamil Pics Photos Wallpapers
Love poems for Her Tumblr Tagalog for Him Images In Hindi for Husband in Tamil Pics Photos Wallpapers
Love poems for Her Tumblr Tagalog for Him Images In Hindi for Husband in Tamil Pics Photos Wallpapers
Love poems for Her Tumblr Tagalog for Him Images In Hindi for Husband in Tamil Pics Photos Wallpapers
Love poems for Her Tumblr Tagalog for Him Images In Hindi for Husband in Tamil Pics Photos Wallpapers
Love poems for Her Tumblr Tagalog for Him Images In Hindi for Husband in Tamil Pics Photos Wallpapers
Love poems for Her Tumblr Tagalog for Him Images In Hindi for Husband in Tamil Pics Photos Wallpapers
Love poems for Her Tumblr Tagalog for Him Images In Hindi for Husband in Tamil Pics Photos Wallpapers
Love poems for Her Tumblr Tagalog for Him Images In Hindi for Husband in Tamil Pics Photos Wallpapers
Love poems for Her Tumblr Tagalog for Him Images In Hindi for Husband in Tamil Pics Photos Wallpapers
Love poems for Her Tumblr Tagalog for Him Images In Hindi for Husband in Tamil Pics Photos Wallpapers
Love poems for Her Tumblr Tagalog for Him Images In Hindi for Husband in Tamil Pics Photos Wallpapers
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