When by my solitary hearth I sit, And hateful thoughts enwrap my soul in gloom; When no fair dreams before my ‘mind’s eye’ flit, And the bare heath of life presents no bloom; Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed, And wave thy silver pinions o’er my head. — John Keats, from “To Hope” (February,… Continue reading John Keats
My hands lifted it up and I gazed as if the sea were alive in that single drop, as if amid the struggle of the earth and the waters one flower were to raise a small banner of blue flame, of irresistible peace, of indomitable purity.… Continue reading Pablo Neruda
Love, what does it matter that time, the very time that raised two flames, two waving heads of wheat, my body and your gentleness, tomorrow will hold them safe or mill the grain, and with those same unseen fingers erase the identities that separate us, giving us the final victory of being one beneath the… Continue reading Pablo Neruda
Better than any word is the pulse of your scent. — Pablo Neruda, “Ode to a Cluster of Violets,” Odes to Common Things. (Bulfinch; Bilingual edition May 1, 1994) Originally published 1961.
You change between teeth and desire into nothing but cool light that loosens into a stream that touched us singing. And thus you don’t weigh us down in the burning siesta hour, you don’t weigh us down, you just go by and your great heart like a cold ember changed into the water of a… Continue reading Pablo Neruda
The shortness of life prevents us from entertaining far-off hopes. — Horace, Odes (1.4.15) 23 BC.
A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear, A stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief, Which finds no natural outlet, no relief, In word, or sigh, or tear — — Samuel Taylor Coleridge, from “Dejection: An Ode,” (1802). The Complete Poems. (Penguin Classics October 1, 1997) Originally published 1834.