The surge of his ardour swept through him in climatic release, filling her womb with his final, mortal sowing.

I wouldn’t want to be faster or greener than now if you were with me O you were the best of all my days!

From love's plectrum arisesthe song of the string of lifeLove is the light of lifelove is the fire of life

In the great green room, there was a telephoneAnd a red balloonAnd a picture of a cat jumping over the moon...

. . . poetry, like all imaginative creations, divines the human enterprise. This is poetry's social value.

I can speak of you now to anyone because I’ve stopped wanting anything like what I once wanted from you.

Every poet has his dream reader: mine keeps a look out for curious prosodic fauna like bacchics and choriambs.

Nostalgia locates desire in the past where it suffers no active conflict and can be yearned toward pleasantly.

I am the poet, you are the poem; I hold the pen, you are the words, love is the ink, silence is the blank page.

Hak cihâna tolıdur kimseler Hakk’ı bilmez / Anı sen senden iste o senden ayru olmaz.

If you would hit the mark, you must aim a little above it;Every arrow that flies feels the attraction of earth.

Cuando vayamos al maryo te diré mi secreto:Me envuelve, pero no es ola...Me amarga..., pero no es sal...

Out of love,No regrets--Though the goodnessBe wasted forever.Out of love,No regrets--Though the returnBe never.

don't wait for the man standing in the snowto cut off his arm help him now

A single wire hanger on a nail by itselfIsn't bad though a stack of them on a floorIs too gloomy for words.