It is a thousand pities to never say what one feels.– from Mrs Dalloway by Virgina Woolf
the poor fools
disconancepoetry: you ask why poets speak so often in the language of goodbyes. it’s because beginnings take them by surprise. love comes and hammers them, and then the poor fools are lost for words. they abandon their pens, and their fingers itch for other things: buttons, nipples, zips – for everything but the poor abandoned pen. — brian patten
Your task is not to seek love, but to seek and melt all barriers within yourself...– Rumi (via pseudopoetry)
What twisted people we are. How simple we seem, or at least pretend to be in...– Roberto Bolaño (via octothorp:septembrist:frenchtwist) (via sealmaiden)
from The Rubaiyat by Omar Khayyam
Some in deep thought spirit seek Some lost in awe, of doubt reek I fear the voice, hidden but not weak Cry out “awake! Both ways are oblique.” OR Some are thoughtful on their way Some are doubtful, so they pray. I hear the hidden voice that may Shout, “Both paths lead astray.”
from The Rubaiyat by Omar Khayyam
If my coming were up to me, I’d never be born And if my going were on my accord, I’d go with scorn Isn’t it better that in this world, so old and worn Never to be born, neither stay, nor be away torn?
O Beauty, Passing Beauty! by Alfred Lord Tennyson
O beauty, passing beauty! Sweetest sweet! How can thou let me waste my youth in sighs? I only ask to sit beside thy feet. Thou knowest I dare not look into thine eyes. Might I but kiss thy hand! I dare not fold My arms about thee—scarcely dare to speak. And nothing seems to me so wild and bold, As with one kiss to touch thy blessed cheek. Methinks if I should kiss thee, no control...
Dream Girl by Carl Sandburg
YOU will come one day in a waver of love, Tender as dew, impetuous as rain, The tan of the sun will be on your skin, The purr of the breeze in your murmuring speech, You will pose with a hill-flower grace. You will come, with your slim, expressive arms, A poise of the head no sculptor has caught And nuances spoken with shoulder and neck, Your face in a pass-and-repass of moods As many as...
To a Stranger by Walt Whitman
PASSING stranger! you do not know how longingly I look upon you, You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me, as of a dream,) I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you, All is recall’d as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured, You grew up with me, were a boy with me, or a girl with me, I ate with you, and slept with you—your body has...
A dream within a dream
alinaamir: I stand amid the roar Of a surf-tormented shore, And I hold within my hand Grains of the golden sand — How few! yet how they creep Through my fingers to the deep, While I weep — while I weep! O God! can I not grasp Them with a tighter clasp? O God! can I not save One from the pitiless wave? Is all that we see or seem But a dream within a dream?
Sonnet 66 by William Shakespeare
Tired with all these, for restful death I cry, As to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimm’d in jollity, And purest faith unhappily forsworn, And gilded honour shamefully misplac’d, And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, And right perfection wrongfully disgrac’d, And strength by limping sway disabled And art made tongue-tied by authority, And folly,...