Now what is Love, I pray thee, tell?
It is that fountain and that well.
Where pleasure and repentance dwell;
It is, perhaps, the sauncing bell
That tolls all into heaven or hell;
And this is Love, as I hear tell.
Yet what is Love, I prithee, say?
It is a work on holiday,
It is December matched with May,
When lusty bloods in fresh array
Hear ten months after of the play;
And this is Love, as I hear say...
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“Hope” is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -
And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm ...
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I do not love you except because I love you.
I go from loving to not loving you;
from waiting to not waiting for you...
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Pablo Neruda is one of my favorite poets. His book Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair is the best anthology I've ever read. He translates feelings into words. Every word he writes, brings you closer to nature. I love the way he describes woman and love as forces of the universe...
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