Meu amor! Meu amante! Meu amigo!
Colhe a hora que passa, hora divina,
Bebe-a dentro de mim, bebe-a comigo!
Sinto-me alegre e forte! Sou menina!
[...]
E à volta, Amor... tornemos, nas alfombras Dos caminhos selvagens e escuros, Num astro só as nossas duas sombras!...

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Ser poeta é ser mais alto, é ser maior
Do que os homens! Morder como quem beija!
É ser mendigo e dar como quem seja
Rei do Reino de Áquem e de Além Dor! É ter de mil desejos o esplendor
E não saber sequer que se deseja!
É ter cá dentro um astro que flameja,
É ter garras e asas de condor! É ter fome, é ter sede de Infinito!
Por elmo, as manhas de oiro e de cetim...
É condensar o mundo num só grito! E é amar-te, assim, perdidamente...
É seres alma, e sangue, e vida em mim
E dizê-lo cantando a toda a gente!

My love! My lover! Beloved Friend!
Grab this wondrous, fleeting moment, Drink it inside me,
Let’s drink it together to the end!
[...]
And upon returning, love...
Taking mysterious paths along the meadows
On grassy carpets on the forest floor,
We will make a star of our two shadows.

To be a poet is to be taller, to be bigger
Than men! It is to bite as if you’re kissing!
It is to give alms, although you are a beggar like
King of the Realm where only pain is missing!</p>It is to have a thousand desires for splendor
And do not even know what we want!
It is to have inside yourself a flaming star,
It is to have the condor’s mighty claw and wing! It is to be hungry, to be thirsty of Infinity!
By helmet, golden and satin mornings...
It is to condense the world into one lonely cry! And it is loving you, thus, hopelessly...
And it is you being soul, and blood, and life in me
And tell it singing to everyone!

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I want to love, to love heedlessly!
To love for the sake of loving: Here...there...
This one, that other and everyone...
To love! To love! And love no one!
[...]
He who loves someone and says that love’s fire
Can last a lifetime is nothing but a liar!

Sometimes I start looking at the mirror and examining myself, feature by feature: eyes, mouth, shape of the forehead, eyelids curve, the face line... And this vulgar and hideous-looking, grotesque and miserable amalgam, would it know how to do verses? Oh, no! There is something else … but what? After all, why think? To live is to not know that one is living... Why don't I forget that I am living... to live?

Kiss my hands, Love, make them feel caressed
Kiss them as if we two were only siblings,
Two birds singing in the sun and in the same nest. Kiss them, Love!... The wildest fantasy is at my fingertips
To hold those kisses locked within my hands
The kisses that I dreamed were for my lips!