
The bee that takes the pollen to the flower;
The earth, uplifting her bare, pulsing breast
To fervent kisses of the amorous sun;--
Each but obeys creative Love's behest,
Which everywhere instinctively is done.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox

The bee that takes the pollen to the flower;
The earth, uplifting her bare, pulsing breast
To fervent kisses of the amorous sun;--
Each but obeys creative Love's behest,
Which everywhere instinctively is done.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox

But the true voyagers are only those who leave
Just to be leaving; hearts light, like balloons,
They never turn aside from their fatality
And without knowing why they always say: "Let's go!”
Charles Baudelaire,Les Fleurs du Mal

It is this admirable, this immortal, instinctive sense of beauty
Our unquenchable thirst for all that lies beyond, and that life
It is both by poetry and through poetry, by music and through music,
those tears are not a proof of overabundant joy: they bear witness
that leads us to look upon the spectacle of this world as a glimpse,
a correspondence with heaven.
reveals, is the liveliest proof of our immortality.
that the soul dimly descries the splendours beyond the tomb; and
when an exquisite poem brings tears to our eyes,
rather to an impatient melancholy, a clamant demand by our nerves,
our nature, exiled in imperfection, which would fain enter into
immediate possession, while still on this earth, of a revealed paradise.
Charles Baudelaire

Through strife the slumbering soul awakes,
We learn on error's troubled route
The truths we could not prize without
The sorrow of our sad mistakes.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Not that I want to be a god or a hero.
Just to change into a tree,
grow for ages, not hurt anyone.
Czesław Miłosz

A love sonnet, from me
To her whose heart is my heart's quiet home,
To my first Love, my Mother, on whose knee
I learnt love-lore that is not troublesome;
Christina Rosseti