i carry your heart with me

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bilete

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear

no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it?s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

 

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

e. e. cummings.

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  • Åh. Jeg husker vi hadde det diktet oppe til tolkning i engelsktimene på ungdomsskolen. Men jeg liker dette bedre.In the desertI saw a creature, naked, bestial,Who, squatting upon the ground,Held his heart in his hands,And ate of it.I said: ?Is it good, friend???It is bitter-bitter,? he answered;?But I like itBecause it is bitter,And because it is my heart.?

  • Det er aldri godt å vite kva ein kjem til å føle og tenke om ting i framtida uansett:) Ein får leve i nuet:) Gledar meg til å få sjå tatoveringa når den e i boks:)

  • fineste. diktet. selv om jeg liker dette best:somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyondany experience,your eyes have their silence:in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,or which i cannot touch because they are too nearyour slightest look easily will unclose methough i have closed myself as fingers,you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first roseor if your wish be to close me, i andmy life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,as when the heart of this flower imaginesthe snow carefully everywhere descending;nothing which we are to perceive in this world equalsthe power of your intense fragility:whose texturecompels me with the color of its countries,rendering death and forever with each breathing(i do not know what it is about you that closesand opens;only something in me understandsthe voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands..e.e. cummings er noe av det beste i verden. ❤