Parole...Parole...Parole

Toi qui, comme un coup de couteau,  Dans mon cœur plaintif es entrée ; Toi qui, forte comme un troupeau De démons, vins, folle et parée, De mon esprit humilié Faire ton lit et ton domaine ; - Infâme à qui je suis lié Comme le forçat à la chaîne, Comme au jeu le joueur têtu, Comme à la bouteille l'ivrogne, Comme aux vermines la charogne, - Maudite, maudite sois-tu ! J'ai prié le glaive rapide De conquérir ma liberté, Et j'ai dit au poison perfide De secourir ma lâcheté. Hélas ! Le poison et le glaive M'ont pris en dédain et m'ont dit : " Tu n'es pas digne qu'on t'enlève À ton esclavage maudit, Imbécile ! - de son empire Si nos efforts te délivraient, Tes baisers ressusciteraient Le cadavre de ton vampire ! " [Charles Baudelaire]

Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now, Thus much let me avow- You are not wrong, who deem That my days have been a dream; Yet if hope has flown away In a night, or in a day, In a vision, or in none, Is it therefore the less gone? All that we see or seem Is but a dream within a dream. I stand amid the roar Of a surf-tormented shore, And I hold within my hand Grains of the golden sand- How few! yet how they creep Through my fingers to the deep, While I weep- while I weep! O God! can I not grasp Them with a tighter clasp? O God! can I not save One from the pitiless wave? Is all that we see or seem But a dream within a dream?  [Edgar Allan Poe]

She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellow'd to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies.  One shade the more, one ray the less,  Had half impair'd the nameless grace  Which waves in every raven tress,  Or softly lightens o'er her face;  Where thoughts serenely sweet express  How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent! Lord Byron

Voglio un amore doloroso, lento, che lento sia come una lenta morte, e senza fine (voglio che più forte sie della morte) e senza mutamento. Voglio che senza tregua in un tormento occulto sien le nostre anime assorte; e un mare sia presso a le nostre porte, solo, che pianga in un silenzio intento. Voglio che sia la torre alta granito, ed alta sia così che nel sereno sembri attingere il grande astro polare. Voglio un letto di porpora, e trovare in quell’ombra giacendo su quel seno, come in fondo a un sepolcro, l’Infinito. Gabriele D’Annunzio

Wild nights! Wild nights!  Were I with thee,  Wild nights should be  Our luxury! Futile the winds To a heart in port, Done with the compass, Done with the chart. Rowing in Eden! Ah! the sea! Might I but moor To-night in thee! [Emily Dickinson]

From childhood`s hour I have not been As others were - I have not seen As others saw - I could not bring My passions from a common spring. From the same source I have not taken My sorrow; I could not awaken My heart to joy at the same tone; And all I lov`d, I lov`d alone. Then - in my childhood - in the dawn Of a most stormy life - was drawn From ev`ry depth of good and ill The mystery which binds me still: From the torrent, or the fountain, From the red cliff of the mountain, From the sun that `round me roll`d In it`s autumn tint of gold - From the lightning in the sky As it pass`d me flying by - From the thunder and the storm, And the cloud that took the form (When the rest of Heavens was blue) Of a demon in my view. E. A. Poe

Come questa pietra del S. Michele così fredda così dura così prosciugata così refrattaria così totalmente disanimata Come questa pietra è il mio pianto che non si vede La morte si sconta vivendo [Giuseppe Ungaretti]