Poems are my link with the times, with the new life of my people.

I know beginnings, I know endings too, and life-in-death, and something else I'd rather not recall just now.

Real tenderness can't be confused, It's quiet and can't be heard.

Forgive me, that I manage badly, Manage badly but live gloriously, That I leave traces of myself in my songs, That I appeared to you in waking dreams.

I seem to myself, as in a dream, Am accidental guest in this dreadful body.

... he is rewarded with a form of eternal childhood, with the bounty and vigilance of the stars, the whole world was his inheritance and he shared it with everyone.

No, not under the vault of another sky, not under the shelter of other wings. I was with my people then, there where my people were doomed to be.