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Topic of the Day: men

International Men's Day

Boy

male

dog

for girl...

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About poetry

Poetry is the least artificial of the literary genres.

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I shall forget you presently, my dear

I shall forget you presently, my dear,
So make the most of this, your little day,
Your little month, your little half a year,
Ere I forget, or die, or move away,

And we are done forever; by and by
I shall forget you, as I said, but now,
If you entreat me with your loveliest lie
I willl protest you with my favorite vow.

I would indeed that love were longer-lived,
And vows were not so brittle as they are,
But so it is, and nature has contrived
To struggle on without a break thus far,

Whether or not we find what we are seeking
Is idle, biologically speaking.

poem by from A Few Figs from Thistles (1920)Report problemRelated quotes
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I Was Not When You Were Born, You Were Old When I Was Born

I was not when you were born,
You were old when I was born.
You regret that I was late born,
I regret that you were early born.
I was not when you were born,
You were old when I was born.
I wished to have been born together,
We could enjoy our time together.
You were not when I was born,
I was old when you were born.
I was so far away from you,
You were so distant from me.
You were not when I was born,
I was old when you were born.
I’d become a flower-seeking butterfly,
And sleep on the fragrant grass every night.

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I sweeten myself the tea with honey

I sweeten myself the tea with honey
she sits quietly in the chair looking up at me
surprised to see my hand not trembling

it is so early in the morning that
the sun is slipping into her eyes
time enough to sprawl about a little longer
then it comes out of the sea

she is no longer sitting but looks at me
she has cold hands and the wall
between us was turning out translucent

poem by from I sweeten myself the tea with honey (Îmi pun singur miere în ceai) (2010), translated by Dan CostinaşReport problemRelated quotes
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