” Her lips on his
could tell him
better than all
her stumbling words.”
It’s all one, everything is equally good.
Whether you embrace a woman or make a poem, it’s the same.
So long as the main thing is there–
— the love, the burning, the emotion ..
it doesn’t matter whether you are a monk on Mount Athos or a man about town in Paris.”
” Ah, earthly life burns in a myriad splendours
Not even death’s dark hazard can destroy.
I yield, a willing prisoner, to joy;
I never sorted with discreet pretenders.
And as the shaken glaucous wave engenders
Spindrift, so my green falling silks deploy
A froth, and all is stripped to the last toy,
And, caught in ecstasy, my sense surrenders.
Why does the blossom wanton in the light,
The blue horizon lure me to its border?
My body too is of their bent and order:
My every nerve vibrates to rapt delight,
And I distrain my life of its last treasure
As if my mounting days
had brimmed their measure. “