There is grey in your hair.
Young men no longer suddenly catch their breath
When you are passing;
- William Butler Yeats
By far the worst is the hamburger lady.
We must heal them for the qualified technicians,
- Genesis P-Orridge
A box with paints from childhood's time:
The colors of town are earth and grime.
An old worker a...
- Julian Tuwim
Culture, which makes talent shine, is not completely ours either, nor can we place it solely at our ...
- Jose Marti
A shepherd shearing sheep one day
Declaimed most zealously
Upon the care was ta’en of sh...
- Ignacy Krasicki
The moon came into the forge
in her bustle of flowering nard.
The little boy stares at her, stares...
- Federico García Lorca
I'll never step ashore and feel your beach
the way I felt it as a barefoot child,
or see you waver...
- Ugo Fuscolo
A land, as far as the eye can see, where the waving grasses grow
Or the plains are blackened and b...
- Andrew Barton Paterson
 Art -  Literature - Alfred de Musset - French poet
Alfred de Musset - French poet
February 9th 2013
Contributed by user for educational purposes only. User is not author.
From far abroad, from across the sea, from the glowing south, the messengers of spring, the beloved ...
- Rikard Katalinic Jeretov
 Art -  Literature - Marie Under
Marie Under
August 10th 2014
Contributed by user for educational purposes only. User is not author.
Up, Amarylis! Darling, awaken!
Through the still bracken
Soft airs swell;
- Carl Michael Bellman
In a few days
it shall belong to the past.
in order to forget
I'll give myself
to the warm glow
- Hendrik Marsman
Before us is the iron coin. Now let us ask
The two opposing faces what the answer will be
To the i...
- Jorge Luis Borges
A suicide in front of a mirror.
A frightened soul.
The wind moans in the black woods.
The night'...
- Srecko Kosovel
I would liken you
To a night without stars
Were it not for your eyes.
I would liken you
To a sle...
- Langston Hughes
LULLABY, little Love,
Slumber sweetly, slumber deep,
Though your cradle will not move,
I shall...
- Adam Oehlenschlager
'Tis an eerie thing o'er the moor to fare
When the eddies of peat-smoke justle,
When the wra...
- Annette von Droste-Hülshoff