To erase all till nightfall, to cancel, disown myself. To be immersed in you, To vouch for your laughter. To let the seasons flow until the day staggers Or falls to its knees. I want the night to die. I want to die in you. Summer will then be ashes, A charred morning will lie… Continue reading Françoise Delcarte
Here I desire nothing but summer and its respite. The leisure of warm weather, The day’s shoulder to lean on. To hold your hand once more, to come and wake the dawn. To erase all till nightfall, to cancel, disown myself. To be immersed in you, To vouch for your laughter. To let the seasons… Continue reading Françoise Delcarte
Like the tree let the wind pass by enjoy its caress love your own swaying. And if the wind becomes tempest yield be supple and let the wind pass by. — Lucie Spède, from “Well-Being,” Belgian Women Poets: An Anthology, edited by Judy Cochran ( Peter Lang Publishing Inc., 2000)
And finally, love is magic, as is hatred, too, imprinting as they do upon the brain the image of a being whom we allow to haunt us. — Marguerite Yourcenar, L’Œuvre au noir/The Abyss. (Assimil Gmbh; Presumed to be 1st as edition is unstated edition June 25, 1976) Originally published 1968.