690.
Even the muddiest
Up-dug, bramble-bogged garden
Is made pure by frost.
690.
Even the muddiest
Up-dug, bramble-bogged garden
Is made pure by frost.
675.
Stillness, Autumn mists.
Nothing could ever disprove
Your true loveliness.
Hai visto quello che ho visto
Qui tra i salici;
Una lucciola in oro e verde,
Pesciolini lontani nell’aria.
Le sue vene sono piene di tempo
La sua pelle è gentilezza dorata;
Ipnotizzato dall’innocenza,
Il miracolo di mia altezza.
Se vedi la tua lucciola
Attraverso gli alberi favolosi,
Lascia che la perdita si riposi un po’,
I suoi miracoli sono nell’aria.
Describing physical beauty
Should never begin with a form,
Society’s circular cruelties
Turn falsehoods into the norm.
So firstly undressing a kindness
For so long stowed in your heart,
Sharing love’s like-mindedness,
Sublimer sleeps the art.
All love is loving in layers,
Our bodies are only the start;
I’d rather see your soul flourished,
Where the lips of souls then part.
665.
Autumnal love-swan,
How long dear will you be gone?
My swift thoughts are yours.
When stars advance
To where we now can see,
Their light-love travelled just so far
To where we had to be.
Constellations slowly move
And not as sequined heroes,
Our perspectives only prove
False gods are shaped like zeroes.
I’m glad that we are nearer now
Than source-springs of a myth;
My goddess is the meaning now
Of distance in life’s gifts.
663.
How could I explain
In seventeen syllables
This depth of feeling.
651.
Supple, carefree grace,
Always appreciated.
Focus errs again.
595.
Can we talk about
Your beauty, I’ve got a month
Or two, or twenty.
578.
Beauty is wordless,
In that no words could deserve
To describe your love.