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Quando me deste os bons-dias

Quando me deste os bons-dias
Deste-mos como a qualquer.
Mais vale não dizer nada
Do que assim nada dizer.
👁️ 814

Meu amor é fragateiro.

Meu amor é fragateiro.
Eu sou a sua fragata.
Alguns vão atrás do cheiro,
Outros vão só pela arreata.
👁️ 1 788

Was it the lyrical nightingale

Was it the lyrical nightingale
Forgot this music or told this tale?
A murmur of sorrow within me moves
Among the ghosts of unfound loves,
A breath of loss; like a lily faded,
By nought but the spell of that music aided.

I dream, and the sadness of being alive
Is like a mist round the things that strive
For an uttered word or a sense of being.
What sickness of having no seeing but seeing
Haunts with a murmur, thrills with a fear
The unnatural sense of my being here?

Nothing: the moonlight. Nothing: the breeze.
For sure there are, on remoter seas
Than mere containing of thoughts and dreams,
More earthless sorrows, less lucid gleams.
Care, and the fret of not having aught
If there, yet weigh not on life and thought.

Was it the music that came or ended?
Was it that it lost me or that it blended
With that of me that was born to hear it?
A voiceless sighing incarnate spirit,
A murmur of waters that somewhere shine,
A moonlight of dreaming it, a curious wine,

A splendour of opening vision to stars
No separateness from seeing them mars,
A clarion of moon-morn issuing from
The earliest place before love and home —
This, and the music I scarce can hear …
Lie still, my heart! be a dream, my fear!
👁️ 1 353

OPIARY

Life tastes to me like golden tobacco.
I have never done anything but smoke life.

After all of what use was it to me to have
Gone to the East and seen India and China?
The earth is similar and little
And there is only one way of living.

I pretended to study engineering.
I lived in Scotland. I visited Ireland.
My heart is a poor grandmother who goes about
Begging at the doors of Joy.

I am unfortunate by primogeniture.
The gipsies stole my luck.
Perhaps I shall not even find near death
A place to shelter me from my cold.

And I was a child like other people.
I was born in a Portuguese province,
And have met English people
Who say I speak English perfectly.
👁️ 1 636

Meu pobre Portugal,

Meu pobre Portugal,
Dóis-me no coração.
Teu mal é o meu mal
Por imaginação.

Tão fraco, tão doente,
E com a boa cor
Que a tísica põe quente
Na cara, o exterior.

Meu pobre e magro povo
A quem deram, às peças,
Um fato em estado novo
Para que o não pareças!

Tens a cara lavada,
Um fato de se ver
Mas não te deram nada,
Coitado, que comer.

E aí, nessa cadeira,
Jazes, apresentável.
(…)
O transeunte amável.
👁️ 1 582

Why do I desire

Why do I desire
What I do not need?
Why does my soul, like fire,
Or a hot abstract greed,
Seek all that is higher?

Why, if not because
It is a soul? (...)
Who can know the cause
When it lies in its whole
Hidden in (...) laws?

Yet this matters not.
What matters is pining
And that stress of thought
That comes of divining
What to wish that may not be got.
👁️ 1 153

Tenho uma ideia comigo

Tenho uma ideia comigo
De que não quero falar.
Se a ideia fosse um postigo,
Era p’ra te ver passar.
👁️ 1 322

42 - THE FORESELF

I had a self and life
        Before this life and self.
When the moon makes woods rife
        With possible fay or elf,
There comes in me a dreaming
That is like a light gleaming
        Somewhere in me away,
On seas that I have known
And placeless lands that own
        Another kind of day.

I dream, and as a blast
        Fans into fire an ember,
My heart gleams with a past
        That I cannot remember.
And as the ember's glowing
Is not fire but fire's showing,
        I waste the empty pelf
Of my mute sense of me.
As rain within the sea
        I fade within myself.

There are mazes of I.
        I am my unknown being.
I have, I know not why,
        Another kind of seeing
(Other than this vain vision
That is my soul's division
        From what girds sight about)
Where to see is to know,
Whose life is faith, and woe
        Fled by the hand of Doubt.

My life has happy hours:
        'Tis when I feel not living;
And, as the scent of flowers
        Round flowers a flower‑soul weaving
That is a corporate spirit,
From myself I inherit,
        My soul's blood's spirit‑air,
A foreself and inself
Which is the being‑pelf
        That with God's loss I share.
👁️ 1 475

A tua saia, que é curta,

A tua saia, que é curta,
Deixa-te a perna a mostrar:
Meu coração já se furta
A sentir sem eu pensar.
👁️ 1 266

Quando apertaste o teu cinto

Quando apertaste o teu cinto
Puseste o cravo na boca.
Não sei dizer o que sinto
Quando o que sinto me toca.
👁️ 1 442

Comentários (17)

Iniciar sessão ToPostComment
Gabriel
Gabriel
2025-09-17

What?

ademir domingos zanotelli
ademir domingos zanotelli
2025-07-27

Simplesmente um pensador ( tão grande) pois todos nós temos máscaras, nossos sentimentos são todos ocultos na nossa eterna alma. fantástico este texto para sua época vivida.

rodrigl
rodrigl
2023-12-01

cmt

tomaslopes
tomaslopes
2023-06-23

O maior e mais pensador poeta para a sua antiga época. O maior e mais revolucionista da literatura portuguesa, com os seus poemas e textos que enchem a alma de pensamentos. Tem um forma única de se expressar e ditar o que vem da sua alma, como ele dizia " Quem tem alma não tem calma".

mcegonha
mcegonha
2023-04-21

O profeta dos poetas!