I have dreamed so much of you

Robert Desnos



I have dreamed so much of you
that you lose your reality
Is there still time to reach that living body
and kiss on that mouth the birth
of the voice which is dear to me.

I have dreamed so much of you
that my arms accustomed while embracing your shadow
to folding over my breast would not bend
to the shape of your body perhaps.
And that, before the real appearance of what has haunted me
and ruled me for days and years
I should become doubtless a shade,
O sentimental scales

I have dreamed of you so much that it is no longer right
for me to awaken. I sleep standing my body exposed to
all the appearances of life and love, and you, the only
one who counts today for me, I could touch your brow
and your lips less
than the lips and brow of the finest person who came.


I have dreamed so much of you
walked so much, spoken, lain with your phantom that all
I have to do now perhaps is to be a phantom among
phantoms and a ghost a hundred times more than the
ghost who walks and will walk gaily over the sun-dial
of your life.

How Do I Love Thee?

by: Elizabeth Barrett Browning

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
my soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
for the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
in my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
with my lost saints,--I love thee with the breath,
smiles, tears, of all my life!--and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.







Sonnet LXIX
by: Pablo Neruda


Maybe nothingness is to be without your presence,
without you moving, slicing the noon
like a blue flower, without you walking
later through the fog and the cobbles,

without the light you carry in your hand,
golden, which maybe others will not see,
which maybe no one knew was growing
like the red beginnings of a rose.

In short, without your presence: without your coming
suddenly, incitingly, to know my life,
gust of a rosebush, wheat of wind:

since then I am because you are,
since then you are, I am, we are,
and through love I will be, you will be, we'll be.

Love, Love 

by: Pedro Calderon De La Barca

What is the glory far above
All else in human life?
Love! Love!
There is no form in which the fire
Of love its traces has impressed not.
Man lives far more in love's desire
Than by life's breath, soon possessed not.
If all that lives must love or lie, 
All shapes on earth, or sea, or sky, 
With one consent, to Heaven cry 
That the glory far above 
All else in life is--
Love! O, Love!
Thou melancholy thought, which art 
So fluttering and so sweet, to thee 
When did I give the liberty 
Thus to afflict my heart? 
What is the cause of this new power 
Which doth my fevered being move, 
Momently raging more and more? 
What subtle pain is kindled now, 
Which from my heart doth overflow 
Into my senses?