since feelings come first, who cares about the syntax of things?
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility
So, when kiss Spring comes we'll kiss each kiss other on kiss the kiss lips because tic clocks tock don't make a toctic difference to kisskiss you and to kiss me.
True wars are never won.
hopes dance best on bald men's hair
The sensual mysticism of entire vertical being.
XVII Lady, i will touch you with my mind. Touch you and touch and touch until you give me suddenly a smile,shyly obscene (lady i will touch you with my mind.)Touch you,that is all, lightly and you utterly will become with infinite care the poem which i do not write.
-Before leaving my room i turn, and (stooping through the morning) kiss this pillow, dear where our heads lived and were.
when man determined to destroy himself he picked the was of shall and finding only why smashed it into because.
it's no use trying to pretend that mostpeople and ourselves are alike. Mostpeople have less in common with ourselves than thesquarerootofminusone. You and I are human beings; mostpeople are snobs.
An artist, a man, a failure, must proceed.
O sweet spontaneous earth how often has the naughty thumb of science prodded thy beauty thou answereth them only with spring.
No evil is so worse than worst you fall in hate with love.
since feeling is first who pays any attention to the syntax of things will never wholly kiss you; wholly to be a fool while Spring is in the world my blood approves, and kisses are a far better fate than wisdom lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry --the best gesture of my brain is less than your eyelids' flutter which says we are for eachother: then laugh, leaning back in my arms for life's not a paragraph And death i think is no parenthesis
Must's a schoolroom in the month of may
Peering from some high window; at the gold of November sunset (and feeling that if day has to become night this is a beautiful way).
The courage to receive time's mightiest dream.
All in green went my love of riding on a great horse of gold into the silver dawn.
i shall imagine life is not worth dying,if (and when)roses complain their beauties are in vain but though mankind persuades itself that every weed's a rose,roses(you feel certain)will only smile
the other guineahen died of a broken heart and we came to New York. I used to sit at a table,drawing wings with a pencil that kept breaking and i kept remembering how your mind looked when it slept for several years,to wake up asking why. So then you turned into a photograph of somebody who’s trying not to laugh at somebody who’s trying not to cry
Time cannot children,poets,lovers tell- measure imagine,mystery,a kiss -not though mankind would rather know than feel
Spring is like a perhaps hand
Who knows if the moon's / a balloon, coming out of a keen city / in the sky - filled with pretty people?
i have found what you are like the rain (Who feathers frightened fields with the superior dust-of-sleep. wields easily the pale club of the wind and swirled justly souls of flower strike the air in utterable coolness deeds of gren thrilling light with thinned newfragile yellows lurch and.press --in the woods which stutter and sing And the coolness of your smile is stirringofbirds between my arms;but i should rather than anything have(almost when hugeness will shut quietly)almost, your kiss
If 180 million people want to be undead, that’s their funeral, but I happen to like being alive.
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