If I believed I could free myself, by dying from amorous thoughts that bind me to the earth, I would already have laid these troubled limbs and their burden in the earth myself
but because I fear to find a passage from tears to tears, and one war to another, I remain in the midst, alas, of staying and crossing on this side of the pass that is closed to me
There has been enough time now for the merciless bow to fire its final arrow bathed and dyed already with others' blood:
yet Love does not take me, or that deaf one who has painted me with his own pallor, and still forgets to call me to him.
Dr.Crane · Sun Nov 20, 2005 @ 02:59am · 1 Comments |