Love is a privilege of the aged mature Lying down in the straitest of beds, Which turns into the largest and most grassy, Stroking, in each pore, the body's heaven. Is this, love: the unforeseen reward, The buried and glowing prize, Reading of the encoded lightning, That, once decoded, there is nothing Worth the while and the earthly price, Saving the tiny clock's minute gold, Throbbing through the dusk. Love is what is learned on the verge, After filing away the whole science Inherited, told. Love begins old.
espaço para falar de cultura e literatura nos mais diversos modos