🎼‘Salut d’amour’ was born from a poem written by Alice, Elgar’s wife. The composer set it to music as a musical love token for his betrothed, scoring it for piano and calling it ‘Liebesgruss’ (Love’s Greeting). Later, It was published under the French, rather sumptuous-sounding title, ‘Salut d’amour.’ SALUT! 🍷
🎼‘Salut d’amour’ was born from a poem written by Alice, Elgar’s wife. The composer set it to music as a musical love token for his betrothed, scoring it for piano and calling it ‘Liebesgruss’ (Love’s Greeting). Later, It was published under the French, rather sumptuous-sounding title, ‘Salut d’amour.’ SALUT! 🍷
🎼‘Salut d’amour’ was born from a poem written by Alice, Elgar’s wife. The composer set it to music as a musical love token for his betrothed, scoring it for piano and calling it ‘Liebesgruss’ (Love’s Greeting). Later, It was published under the French, rather sumptuous-sounding title, ‘Salut d’amour.’ SALUT! 🍷
🎼‘Salut d’amour’ was born from a poem written by Alice, Elgar’s wife. The composer set it to music as a musical love token for his betrothed, scoring it for piano and calling it ‘Liebesgruss’ (Love’s Greeting). Later, It was published under the French, rather sumptuous-sounding title, ‘Salut d’amour.’ SALUT! 🍷
#pabloneruda “Ode ao Rio de Janeiro.” Rio de Janeiro, a água é a tua bandeira, agita as suas cores, sopra e soa no vento, cidade, náiade negra, de claridade sem fim, de fervente sombra, de pedra com espuma é o teu tecido, o lúcido balanço da tua rede marinha, o azul movimento dos teus pés arenosos, o aceso ramo dos teus olhos. Rio, Rio de Janeiro, os gigantes salpicaram a tua estátua com pontos de pimenta, deixaram na tua boca lombos do mar, nadadeiras pertubadoramente indolentes, promontórios da fertilidade,tetas da água, declives de granito, lábios de ouro, e entre a pedra quebrada o sol marinho iluminando espumas estreladas.
CARPE DIEM 🌹 by #williamshakespeare O mistress mine, where are you roaming? O stay and hear! your true-love’s coming That can sing both high and low; Trip no further, pretty sweeting, Journey’s end in lovers’ meeting— Every wise man’s son doth know. What is love? ‘tis not hereafter; Present mirth hath present laughter; What’s to come is still unsure: In delay there lies no plenty,— Then come kiss me, Sweet and twenty, Youth’s a stuff will not endure.
She Walks In Beauty 🩶 Poem by #georgegordonbyron She walks in Beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that’s best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellowed to that tender light Which Heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impaired the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens o’er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express, How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. And on that cheek, and o’er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent!
She Walks In Beauty 🩶 Poem by #georgegordonbyron She walks in Beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that’s best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellowed to that tender light Which Heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impaired the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens o’er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express, How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. And on that cheek, and o’er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent!
She Walks In Beauty 🩶 Poem by #georgegordonbyron She walks in Beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that’s best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellowed to that tender light Which Heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impaired the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens o’er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express, How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. And on that cheek, and o’er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent!
She Walks In Beauty 🩶 Poem by #georgegordonbyron She walks in Beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that’s best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellowed to that tender light Which Heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impaired the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens o’er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express, How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. And on that cheek, and o’er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent!
Memória 🤎 Poem by #carlosdrummonddeandrade Amar o perdido deixa confundido este coração. Nada pode o olvido contra o sem sentido apelo do Não. As coisas tangíveis tornam-se insensíveis à palma da mão Mas as coisas findas muito mais que lindas, essas ficarão.
A própria essência do romance é a incerteza. #oscarwilde
As If The Sea Should Part 🩵 By #emilydickinson As if the Sea should part And show a further Sea — And that — a further — and the Three But a presumption be — Of Periods of Seas — Unvisited of Shores — Themselves the Verge of Seas to be — Eternity — is Those —
I am missing LA… 🌝
I am missing LA… 🌝
I L🩵VE THE SEA!
#simonedebeauvoir ― from The Second Sex “When she does not find love, she may find poetry. Because she does not act, she observes, she feels, she records; a color, a smile awakens profound echoes within her; her destiny is outside her, scattered in cities already built, on the faces of men already marked by life, she makes contact, she relishes with passion and yet in a manner more detached, more free, than that of a young man. Being poorly integrated in the universe of humanity and hardly able to adapt herself therein, she, like the child, is able to see it objectively; instead of being interested solely in her grasp on things, she looks for their significance; she catches their special outlines, their unexpected metamorphoses. She rarely feels a bold creativeness, and usually she lacks the technique of self-expression; but in her conversation, her letters, her literary essays, her sketches, she manifests an original sensitivity. The young girl throws herself into things with ardor, because she is not yet deprived of her transcendence; and the fact that she accomplishes nothing, that she is nothing, will make her impulses only the more passionate. Empty and unlimited, she seeks from within her nothingness to attain All”
I’m Nobody! Who are you? Poetry by #emilydickinson I’m Nobody! Who are you? Are you – Nobody – too? Then there’s a pair of us! Don’t tell! they’d advertise – you know! How dreary – to be – Somebody! How public – like a Frog – To tell one’s name – the livelong June – To an admiring Bog!
If You Forget Me 🩵 #pabloneruda I want you to know one thing. You know how this is: if I look at the crystal moon, at the red branch of the slow autumn at my window, if I touch near the fire the impalpable ash or the wrinkled body of the log, everything carries me to you, as if everything that exists, aromas, light, metals, were little boats that sail toward those isles of yours that wait for me. Well, now, if little by little you stop loving me I shall stop loving you little by little. If suddenly you forget me do not look for me, for I shall already have forgotten you. If you think it long and mad, the wind of banners that passes through my life, and you decide to leave me at the shore of the heart where I have roots, remember that on that day, at that hour, I shall lift my arms and my roots will set off to seek another land. But if each day, each hour, you feel that you are destined for me with implacable sweetness, if each day a flower climbs up to your lips to seek me, ah my love, ah my own, in me all that fire is repeated, in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten, my love feeds on your love, beloved, and as long as you live it will be in your arms without leaving mine.
