POETRY

ALTHOUGH SO FRAGILE: Poetry of Akiko Yosano (1878/1942)

ALTHOUGH SO FRAGILE Although so fragile and so short love, blood has too young this girl, to burn poems spring. (Akiko Yosano)

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ANGUISH: Poetry, by Stéphane Mallarmé

ANGUISH I do not come tonight for your body, or the beast that the sins of a nation, accept, or stir up in your impure hair a sad storm, under the tedium incurable pouring my kiss. I ask you to read the heavy sleep without dreams, hovered under the veil of secret remorse, and that you can enjoy after your …

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YOU ARE LIKENESS: Poetry, by Paul Eluard

YOU ARE LIKENESS   Do you lie: water unfolds. You are the water diverted by eddies, are the earth that takes root, and where everything is based do bubbles of silence in the silence of the roars. Singing hymns of night rainbow ropes. You’re everywhere Abolish every street. You sacrifice the time to youth eternal flame exact, which veils the …

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ALL LETTERS OF LOVE: Poetry, by Fernando Pessoa

ALL LETTERS OF LOVE All love letters are ridiculous. Would not be love letters if they were not ridiculous. I also wrote in my time love letters, like the others, ridiculous. Love letters, if there is love, must be ridiculous. But after all, only those who have never written love letters are ridiculous. I wish it were still the time …

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MOON: Poetry, by Hai Zi

MOON Chimney smoke up and down. The moon is a white ape digging a well. The moon is a white ape smiling wanly on the river how many times blood trickles out of the sky. The white ape flows past a bell tower. The moon is a white ape smiling wanly. The moon breaks its own heart (Hai Zi) http://www.amazon.com/Autumn-Rooftops-English-Chinese-Edition/dp/0924047763 …

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THE HAPPY SUN IS SHINING: Poetry, by Fernando Pessoa

THE HAPPY SUN IS SHINING The happy sun is shining, the fields are green and joyful, but my poor heart is pining for something far away. It is pining just for you, it is pining for thy kiss. It does not matter if you’re true to this. What matter is just you. I now the sea is beaming under the …

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MY LOVE IS DEAD: Poetry, by Thomas Chatterton

MY LOVE IS DEAD My love is dead. Go to his deathbed, all under the weeping willow. (Thomas Chatterton) http://www.amazon.it/Complete-Chatterton-Illustrated-English-Edition-ebook/dp/B00PE1J0B0

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BALLAD OF GOOD DOCTRINE: Poetry, by François Villon

BALLAD OF GOOD DOCTRINE Whether the bubbles around you bring, you are or who cheat cheat at dice, coiner of money, and you’ll burn like those that are blanched, cowardly perjury, faithless. You steal, take, perform robberies: where does the fruit, do not see it? All the taverns and the whores. Make rhymes’s wit, strumming, playing harpsichord and lute, abject …

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THE POETS DAMNED: If I were fire, poetry of Cecco Angiolieri

IF I WERE FIRE If I were fire, I would burn the world; if I were fire, I would storm. If I were water I would drown. If I were God, I would send it to the core. If I were pope, then I would be joyful, so that all Christians would like intrigue. If I were emperor, I would …

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BETWEEN THE GARDENS OF WILLOWS: Poetry, by William Butler Yeats

BETWEEN THE GARDENS OF WILLOWS   Among the gardens of willows I and my love we met. Strolling through the gardens of willows with his white legs snow. He invited me to take love so easy, as the leaves grow on the trees. But I did not agree, I was young and crazy. In a field on the banks of …

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