Coleção pessoal de crisfontana

Encontrados 14 pensamentos na coleção de crisfontana

IF love were what the rose is,
And I were like the leaf,
Our lives would grow together
In sad or singing weather,
Blown fields or flowerful closes
Green pleasure or grey grief ;
If love were what the rose is,
And I were like the leaf.

If I were what the words are,
And love were like the tune,
With double sound and single
Delight our lips would mingle,
With kisses glad as birds are
That get sweet rain at noon ;
If I were what the words are,
And love were like the tune.

If you were life, my darling,
And I your love were death,
We 'd shine and snow together
Ere March made sweet the weather
With daffodil and starling
And hours of fruitful breath ;
If you were life, my darling,
And I your love were death.

If you were thrall to sorrow,
And I were page to joy,
We 'd play for lives and seasons
With loving looks and treasons
And tears of night and morrow
And laughs of maid and boy ;
If you were thrall to sorrow,
And I were page to joy.

If you were April's lady,
And I were lord in May,
We 'd throw with leaves for hours
And draw for days with flowers,
Till day like night were shady
And night were bright like day ;
If you were April's lady,
And I were lord in May.

If you were queen of pleasure,
And I were king of pain,
We 'd hunt down love together,
Pluck out his flying-feather,
And teach his feet a measure,
And find his mouth a rein ;
If you were queen of pleasure,
And I were king of pain.

Swinburne
1 compartilhamento

HAD I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with the golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams beneath your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams...

Willam Butler Yeats
2 compartilhamentos

When you are old and gray and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face.

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

W. B. Yeats
1 compartilhamento

SPANISH waters, Spanish waters, you are ringing in my ears,
Like a slow sweet piece of music from the grey forgotten years;
Telling tales, and beating tunes, and bringing weary thoughts to me
Of the sandy beach at Muertos, where I would that I could be.

There's a surf breaks on Los Muertos, and it never stops to roar,
And it's there we came to anchor, and it's there we went ashore,
Where the blue lagoon is silent amid snags of rotting trees,
Dropping like the clothes of corpses cast up by the seas.

We anchored at Los Muertos when the dipping sun was red,
We left her half-a-mile to sea, to west of Nigger Head;
And before the mist was on the Cay, before the day was done,
We were all ashore on Muertos with the gold that we had won.

We bore it through the marshes in a half-score battered chests,
Sinking, in the sucking quagmires to the sunburn on our breasts,
Heaving over tree-trunks, gasping, damning at the flies and heat,
Longing for a long drink, out of silver, in the ship’s cool lazareet.

The moon came white and ghostly as we laid the treasure down,
There was gear there’d make a beggarman as rich as Lima Town,
Copper charms and silver trinkets from the chests of Spanish crews,
Gold doubloons and double moidores, louis d’ors and portagues,

Clumsy yellow-metal earrings from the Indians of Brazil,
Uncut emeralds out of Rio, bezoar stones from Guayaquil;
Silver, in the crude and fashioned, pots of old Arica Bronze,
Jewels from the bones of Incas desecrated by the Dons.

We smoothed the place with mattocks, and we took and blazed the tree,
Which marks yon where the gear is hid that none will ever see,
And we laid aboard the ship again, and south away we steers,
Through the loud surf of Los Muertos which is beating in my ears.

I’m the last alive that knows it. All the rest have gone their ways
Killed, or died, or come to anchor in the old Mulatas Cays,
And I go singing, fiddling, old and starved and in despair,
And I know where all that gold is hid, if I were only there.

It’s not the way to end it all. I'm old, and nearly blind,,
And an old man's past's a strange thing, for it never leaves his mind.
And I see in dreams, awhiles, the beach, the sun’s disc dipping red,
And the tall ship, under topsails, swaying in past Nigger Head.

I’d be glad to step ashore there, Glad to take a pick and go
To the lone blazed coco-palm tree in the place no others know,
And lift the gold and silver that has mouldered there for years
By the loud surf of Los Muertos which is beating in my ears.

John Masefield
1 compartilhamento
Tags: Spanish waters

ONE road leads to London,
One road leads to Wales,
My road leads me seawards
To the white dipping sails.

One road leads to the river,
And it goes singing slow;
My road leads to shipping,
Where the bronzed sailors go.

Leads me, lures me, calls me
To salt green tossing sea;
A road without earth's road-dust
Is the right road for me.

A wet road heaving, shining,
And wild with seagull's cries,
A mad salt sea-wind blowing
The salt spray in my eyes.

My road calls me, lures me
West, east, south, and north;
Most roads lead men homewards,
My road leads me forth.

To add more miles to the tally
Of grey miles left behind,
In quest of that one beauty
God put me here to find.

John Masefield
1 compartilhamento

I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.

John Masefield
1 compartilhamento

Ouvir Estrelas

"Ora (direis) ouvir estrelas! Certo,
Perdeste o senso!" E eu vos direi, no entanto,
Que, para ouvi-las, muitas vezes desperto
E abro as janelas, pálido de espanto...

E conversamos toda a noite,
enquanto a Via-Láctea, como um pálio aberto,
Cintila. E, ao vir do sol, saudoso e em pranto,
Inda as procuro pelo céu deserto.

Direis agora: "Tresloucado amigo!
Que conversas com elas? Que sentido
Tem o que dizem, quando estão contigo? "

E eu vos direi: "Amai para entendê-las!
Pois só quem ama pode ter ouvido
Capaz de ouvir e e de entender estrelas".

Olavo Bilac
4.2 mil compartilhamentos

Um homem de gênio é insuportável se, além disso, não possuir pelo menos duas outras qualidades: gratidão e asseio.

Friedrich Nietzsche
125 compartilhamentos

O aforismo, a sentença, nos quais pela primeira vez sou mestre entre os alemães, são formas de «eternidade»: a minha ambição é dizer em dez frases o que outro qualquer diz num livro -, o que outro qualquer «não» diz nem num livro inteiro....

Friedrich Nietzsche
56 compartilhamentos

É terrível morrer de sede no mar. Porque haveis então de salgar a vossa verdade de modo a que não - mate já a sede?

Friedrich Nietzsche
123 compartilhamentos

A moralidade é a melhor de todas as regras para orientar a humanidade.

Friedrich Nietzsche
1.2 mil compartilhamentos

É mais fácil lidar com uma má consciência do que com uma má reputação.

Friedrich Nietzsche
3 mil compartilhamentos

Sem a música, a vida seria um erro.

Friedrich Nietzsche
8.7 mil compartilhamentos

As mulheres podem tornar-se facilmente amigas de um homem; mas, para manter essa amizade, torna-se indispensável o concurso de uma pequena antipatia física.

Friedrich Nietzsche
12 mil compartilhamentos