Unei fecioare

Duduia veşnic citeşte;
Ştie clavirul, pictează -
Şi nopţi de-a rândul veghează,
Şi, poate, de-aceea slăbeşte.

Se crede, şi unii chiar spun -
Dar totul rămâne secret -
Duduia visează-un poet,
Bizar, singuratec, nebun.

G.B.

Where art thou?

Juliet.
O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo
Deny thy father and refuse thy name;
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I'll no longer be a Capulet.

Romeo.
[Aside.] Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?

Juliet.
'Tis but thy name that is my enemy;--
Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.
What's Montague? It is nor hand, nor foot,
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part
Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!
What's in a name? that which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet;
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes
Without that title:--Romeo, doff thy name;
And for that name, which is no part of thee,
Take all myself.

Romeo.
I take thee at thy word:
Call me but love, and I'll be new baptiz'd;
Henceforth I never will be Romeo.

Juliet.
What man art thou that, thus bescreen'd in night,
So stumblest on my counsel?

Romeo.
By a name
I know not how to tell thee who I am:
My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,
Because it is an enemy to thee.
Had I it written, I would tear the word.

Juliet.
My ears have yet not drunk a hundred words
Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound;
Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague?

Romeo.
Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike.

Juliet.
How cam'st thou hither, tell me, and wherefore?
The orchard walls are high and hard to climb;
And the place death, considering who thou art,
If any of my kinsmen find thee here.

Romeo.
With love's light wings did I o'erperch these walls;
For stony limits cannot hold love out:
And what love can do, that dares love attempt;
Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me.

---

To be yourself is all that you can do.

Emokid

Emily Dickinson (1830–86). Complete Poems. 1924.

Part One: Life CII

I HAD a guinea golden;
I lost it in the sand,
And though the sum was simple,
And pounds were in the land,
Still had it such a value	5
Unto my frugal eye,
That when I could not find it
I sat me down to sigh.
I had a crimson robin
Who sang full many a day,	10
But when the woods were painted
He, too, did fly away.
Time brought me other robins,—
Their ballads were the same,—
Still for my missing troubadour	15
I kept the “house at hame.”
I had a star in heaven;
One Pleiad was its name,
And when I was not heeding
It wandered from the same.	20
And though the skies are crowded,
And all the night ashine,
I do not care about it,
Since none of them are mine.
My story has a moral:	25
I have a missing friend,—
Pleiad its name, and robin,
And guinea in the sand,—
And when this mournful ditty,
Accompanied with tear,	30
Shall meet the eye of traitor
In country far from here,
Grant that repentance solemn
May seize upon his mind,
And he no consolation	35
Beneath the sun may find.

To stealthily belong

Emily Dickinson (1830–86). Complete Poems. 1924.

Part One: Life CIV

Few get enough,—enough is one;
To that ethereal throng
Have not each one of us the right
To stealthily belong?

Dreptul la timp - NichitaS - 1965

Tu ai un fel de paradis al tău
în care nu se spun cuvinte.
Uneori se mişcă dintr-un braţ
şi câteva frunze îţi cad inainte.
Cu ovalul feţei se stă înclinat
spre o lumină venind dintr-o parte
cu mult galben în ea şi multă lene,
cu trambuline pentru săritorii în moarte.
Tu ai un fel al tău senin
De-a ridica oraşele ca norii,
şi de-a muta secundele mereu
pe marginea de Sud a orei,
când aerul devine mov şi rece
şi harta serii fără margini,
şi-abia mai pot rămâne-n viaţă
mai respirând, cu ochii lungi, imagini.

Think not what others might think

The Pastor’s Ass

The pastor entered his donkey in a race and it won.
The pastor was so pleased with the donkey that he entered it in the
race again, and it won again.

The local paper read:
PASTOR’S ASS OUT FRONT.

The Bishop was so upset with this kind of publicity that he ordered the
pastor not to enter the donkey in another race.

The next day, the local paper headline read:
BISHOP SCRATCHES PASTOR’S ASS.

This was too much for the bishop, so he ordered the pastor to get rid
of the donkey. The pastor decided to give it to a nun in a nearby
convent.

The local paper, hearing of the news, posted the following Headline the
next day:
NUN HAS BEST ASS IN TOWN.

The bishop fainted. He informed the nun that she would have to get rid
of the donkey, so she sold it to a farmer for $10.

The next day the paper read:
NUN SELLS ASS FOR $10.

This was too much for the
bishop, so he ordered the nun to buy back the
donkey and lead it to the plains where it could run wild.

The next day the headlines read:
NUN ANNOUNCES HER ASS IS WILD AND FREE.

The bishop was buried the next day.

The moral of the story is . . . being concerned about public opinion
can bring you much grief and misery and even shorten your life.