"I am tired, Beloved, of chafing my heart against the want of you; of squeezing it into little inkdrops, And posting it."
"How much more beautiful is the moon, Slanting down the gauffered branches of a plum-tree; The moon Wavering across a bed of tulips; The moon, Still, Upon your face. You shine, Beloved, You and the moon. But which is the reflection?"
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Source: Amy Lowell (2010). “Che ore sono?: poesie”, p.135, G. D'Ambrosio Angelillo
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