Poetry

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Another Fragment to Music

No, Music, thou art not the ‘food of Love.’
Unless Love feeds upon its own sweet self,
Till it becomes all Music murmurs of.

Percy Bysshe Shelley

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Mirror

I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see, I swallow immediately.
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike
I am not cruel, only truthful
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.

Sylvia Plath

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In the desert

In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said: „Is it good, friend?“
„It is bitter – bitter,“ he answered;
„But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart.“
Stephen Crane

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The Angel

The angel was flying through sky in midnight,
And softly he sang in his flight;
And clouds, and stars, and the moon in a throng
Hearkened to that holy song.
He sang of the garden of God’s paradise,
Of innocent ghosts in its shade;
He sang of the God, and his vivacious praise
Was glories and unfeigned.
The juvenile soul he carried in arms
For worlds of distress and alarms;
The tune of his charming and heavenly song
Was left in the soul for long.
It roamed on earth many long nights and days,
Filled with a wonderful thirst,
And earth’s boring songs could not ever replace
The sounds of heaven it lost.
Mikhail Lermontov

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Eternity

He who binds to himself a joy
Does the winged life destroy;
But he who kisses the joy as it flies
Lives in eternity’s sun rise.
William Blake

:)