I forgot that your heart is a night light, a fluke, Not a star! I forgot, though I know it!That your poetry comes from a bookAnd critique comes from envy. Young man with old look,Once again I but tookYou for someone who's great as a po...

I have come to the skinny old Berber whose head is white,To resolve the questions which have been tormenting me.“I can see, my son, you are lanced by a blazing light –Well it is not yours, and it's not meant to be.Fear the muddy flow a...

I have come to the skinny old Berber whose head is white,To resolve the questions which have been tormenting me.“I can see, my son, you are lanced by a blazing light –Well it is not yours, and it's not meant to be.Fear the muddy flow a...

Speak not of ways of good and bad: Both are the ways of good.At dawn, by Freedom I was ledTo where they split; I stoodAs Freedom said, “Two ways here run,Two truths, two merits split.The crowd will struggle choosing one,The...

No, no, for I ought not, cannot and will not dareImprudently immerse in the turmoil of passion; I will not let my heart forget itself and care, I closely watch my peace so I may calmly ration. No, I have loved enough; but if it happens, wh...

With me you play, I see it clearly,You find my love a funny thing,At certain times I hate you dearly,At other times you are my king…There is no cure and no forgetting,My heart is genuinely blue;May you be all about coquetting,B...

With me you play, I see it clearly,You find my love a funny thing,At certain times I hate you dearly,At other times you are my king…There is no cure and no forgetting,My heart is genuinely blue;May you be all about coquetting,B...

Come see the crowd of youth who dig the tune of the day.I’m ages old, I’ve crawled from the dark.They’re different and hip just like the music they play,They’re not the same as we are.And I am not keen to preach to them, they’re young and...

Come see the crowd of youth who dig the tune of the day.I’m ages old, I’ve crawled from the dark.They’re different and hip just like the music they play,They’re not the same as we are.And I am not keen to preach to them, they’re young and...

To HerMy lyre forgotten midst the sadly idle day,My dream aroused no more by vivid imagery, The gift of genius and youthfulness astrayFrom the unfeeling heart that grew benumbed and weary,I called you all once more, my days of bloo...