#poet

Auguries of innocence "He who mocks the infant's faith Shall be mock'd in age and death. He who shall teach the child to doubt The rotting grave shall ne'er get out. He who respects the infant's faith Triumphs over hell and death. The child's toys and the old man's reasons Are the fruits of the two seasons. ↗

— William Blake

#age

Clouds pass and disperse. Are those the faces of love, those pale irretrievables? Is it for such I agitate my heart? ↗

— Sylvia Plath

#heart #love #poetry #love

Heart, we will forget him! You and I, to-night! You may forget the warmth he gave, I will forget the light. When you have done, pray tell me, That I my thoughts may dim; Haste! lest while you’re lagging, I may remember him! ↗

— Emily Dickinson

#loss #love #poetry #love

He loves me, he loves me not. How many flowers must I kill before he loves me?” ~He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not ↗

— Kimberly Kinrade

#poetry #love

Poetry will die when love and pain cease to exist. ↗

— Kellie Elmore

#poetry-quotes #love

I love to move like a mouse inside this puzzle for the body, balancing the wish to be lost with the need to be found. ↗

— Billy Collins

#poetry #love

I hate and I love. And if you ask me how, I do not know: I only feel it, and I am torn in two. ↗

— Catullus

#neoteric-poetry #roman-poetry #love

So much depends upon a blue car splattered with mud speeding down the road. ↗

— Sharon Creech

#love

Cuando uno se enamora las cuadrillas del tiempo hacen escala en el olvido la desdicha se llena de milagros el miedo se convierte en osadía y la muerte no sale de su cueva enamorarse es un presagio gratis una ventana abierta al árbol nuevo una proeza de los sentimientos una bonanza casi insoportable y un ejercicio contra el infortunio por el contrario desenamorarse es ver el cuerpo como es y no como la otra mirada lo inventaba es regresar más pobre al viejo enigma y dar con la tristeza en el espejo ↗

— Mario Benedetti Enamorarse y no

#poetry #love

My beloved has arrived, but rather than greeting him, All I can do is bite the corner of my apron with a blank expression- What an awkward woman am I. My heart has longed for him as hugely and openly as a full moon But instead I narrow my eyes, and my glance to him Is sharp and narrow as the crescent moon. But then, I'm not the only one who behaves this way. My mother and my mother's mother were as silly and stumbling as I am when they were girls... Still, the love from my heart is overflowing, As bright and crimson as the heated metal in a blacksmith's forge. ↗

— Kim Dong Hwa

#longing #love #mothers #mothers-and-daughters #poetry