Harmonie du soir [excerpt] 
Charles Baudelaire

Voici venir les temps où vibrant sur sa tige,
Chaque fleur s'évapore ainsi qu'un encensoir;
Les sons et les parfums tournent dans l'air du soir,
Valse mélancolique et langoureux vertige.

Chaque fleur s'évapore ainsi qu'un encensoir,
Le violon frémit comme un coeur qu'on afflige,
Valse mélancolique et langoureux vertige,
Le ciel est triste et beau comme un grand reposoir;

Le violon frémit comme un coeur qu'on afflige,
Un coeur tendre, qui hait le néant vaste et noir!
Le ciel est triste et beau comme un grand reposoir;
Le soleil s'est noyé dans son sang qui se fige...

Un coeur tendre, qui hait le néant vaste et noir,
Du passé lumineux recueille tout vestige.
Le soleil s'est noyé dans son sang qui se fige, -
Ton souvenir en moi luit comme un ostensoir. 

Vita NuovaSe ao mesmo gozo antigo me convidas, 
Com esses mesmos olhos abrasados, 
Mata a recordação das horas idas, 
Das horas que vivemos apartados! 

Não me fales das lágrimas perdidas, 
Não me fales dos beijos dissipados! 
Há numa vida humana cem mil vidas, 
Cabem num coração cem mil pecados! 

Amo-te! A febre, que supunhas morta, 
Revive. Esquece o meu passado, louca! 
Que importa a vida que passou? que importa, 

Se inda te amo, depois de amores tantos, 
E inda tenho, nos olhos e na boca, 
Novas fontes de beijos e de prantos?! 

Olavo Bilac, in "Poesias"

Tema(s): Amor 

walt whitman about dogs:

"I think I could turn and live with animals, they

are so placid and self contain’d;
I stand and look at them long and long,
They do not sweat and whine about their condition;
They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for
their sins;
They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God;
Not one is dissatisfied — not one is demented with
the mania of owning things;
Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that
lived thousands of years ago;
Not one is respectable or industrious over the
whole earth."

- Walt Whitman
•

Meditatio
Erza Pound
When I carefully consider the curious habits of dogs
I am compelled to conclude
That man is the superior animal.

When I consider the curious habits of man
I confess, my friend, I am puzzled.

Este poema

Lie still, sleep becalmed, suffer with the wound

In the throat, burning and turning.  All night afloat

On the silent sea we have heard the sound

That came from the wound wrapped in the salt sheet.

Under the mile off moon we trembled listening

To the sea sound flowing like blood from the loud wound

And when the salt sheet broke in a storm of singing

The voices of all the drowned swam on the wind.

Open a pathway through the slow sad sail,

Throw wide to the wind the gates of the wandering boat

For my voyage to begin to the end of my wound,

We heard the sea sound sing, we saw the salt sheet tell.

Lie still, sleep becalmed, hide the mouth in the throat,

Or we shall obey and ride with you through the drowned.

Dylan Thomas