We worry to love thee, pleasing, becauseLoveis the ambassador of reduction;light flake of youth, adhering soTo my personal soiled raiment, thy timid snowAt tenderest touch will shrink and go.My cardiovascular system, by many people snares beguiled,has expanded timorous and wild.It would fear thee generally not very,Wert thou not very harmless-small.Because thy arrows, not yet dire,Are still unbarbed with destined flames,We fear thee a lot more than hadst thou stoodFull-panoplied in womanhood.
I became very cool, and overworn, and sad,become a female was really the only delight We had.We walked the street as hushed as a mouse,getting fine garments, and fixtures the house.
Love me perhaps not, delightful youngster
My personal songs are common of thee, what though I singOf early morning when the movie stars is yet in sight,Of nights, or perhaps the melancholy nights,Of wild birds that o’er the reddening seas wing;Of track, of fire, of gusts of wind, or mists that clingTo mountain-tops, of wintertime all in white,Of rivers that toward water bring their own airline,Of summer when the rose is blossoming.I think no believed that is not thine, no breathOf lives I inhale beyond thy sanctity;Thou art the sound that silence uttereth,And of all noise thou ways the feeling. From theeThe tunes of my track, and exactly what it saithIs nevertheless overcome of thy cardiovascular system, throbbed through me personally. Continue lendo “Moments that I favor, to me always remainBeautiful, whether under summertime’s sunBeheld, or, storm-dark, stricken across with rain”