2 мин
Слушать(AI)Sonnet XIII
When I should be asleep to mine own
In telling thee how much thy love's my dream,
I find me listening to myself, the
Of my words othered in my hearing them.
Yet wonder not: this is the poet's soul.
I could not tell thee well of how I love,
Loved I not less by knowing it, were
My self my love and no thought love to prove.
What consciousness makes more by consciousness,
It makes less, for it makes it less itself,
My sense of love could not my love
Did it not for it spend love's own love-pelf. Poet's love's this (as in these words I prove thee): I love my love for thee more than I love thee.
Fernando Pessoa
Fernando António Nogueira Pessoa (13 June 1888 – 30 November 1935) was a Portuguese poet, writer, literary critic, translator, publisher and phi
Комментарии
Вам нужно войти , чтобы оставить комментарий
Другие работы автора
Sonnet VI
As a bad orator, badly o'er-book-skilled, Doth overflow his purpose with made heat, And, like a clock, winds with withoutness What should have been an inner instinct's feat;
Sonnet XV
Like a bad suitor desperate and From the mixed sense of being not loved and loving, Who with feared longing half would know, With what he'd wish proved what he fears soon proving,
As She Passes
When I am sitting at the window, Through the panes, which the snow blurs, I see the lovely images, hers, She passes… passes… passes by…Over me grief has thrown its veil:-Less a creature in this
If After I Die
If, after I die, they should want to write my biography, There's nothing simpler I've just two dates - of my birth, and of my death In between the one thing and the other all the days aremine
