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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2007-07-28 | [Acest text ar trebui citit în english] |
No! Love’s glory is not the ease,
Nor of embraces orgy, of kisses feast, But a long yearning, wait and mystery Compose its spirit in a world of vain delight. By abstentions, the ascets reach the ecstasy; I adore you with the canon of the same plight, ‘Cause love is not a wave stirring the ocean. I harness the purebred... I’ve set free the rips; I didn’t write you like the others, to get your lips, Blatant feelings and feigned emotions; My sonnet is mind and petrified elation. Do touch it with your heart and it will kindle... In my hermetic shell, breathless, and sure, Leisurely, the anguish turns into a jewel. Thursday, March 17, 1955
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