Monday, 14. October 2002
Untitled - Fernando Pessoa
What grieves me is not
What lies within the heart,
But those things of beauty
Which never can be . . .
They are the shapeless shapes Which pass, though sorrow Cannot know them Nor love dream them.
They are as though sadness Were a tree and, one by one, Its leaves were to fall Half outlined in the mist.
Big Book Of Poetry
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