The Hub

Immortals at the Magpie Bridge Clouds float like works of art, Stars shoot with grief at heart. Across the Milky Way the Cowherd meets the Maid. When Autumn’s Golden Wind embraces Dew of Jade, All the love scenes on earth, however many, fade. Their tender love flows like a stream; Their happy date seems but a dream. How can they bear a separate homeward way? If love between both sides can last for aye, Though parted, they are together Night and day.

I want you to know one thing. You know how this is: if I look at the crystal moon, at the red branch of the slow autumn at my window, if I touch near the fire the impalpable ash or the wrinkled body of the log, everything carries me to you, as if everything that exists, aromas, light, metals, were little boats that sail toward those isles of yours that wait for me. Well, now, if little by little you stop loving me I shall stop loving you little by little. If suddenly you forget me do not look for me, for I shall already have forgotten you. If you think it long and mad, the wind of banners that passes through my life, and you decide to leave me at the shore of the heart where I have roots, remember that on that day, at that hour, I shall lift my arms and my roots will set off to seek another land. But if each day, each hour, you feel that you are destined for me with implacable sweetness, if each day a flower climbs up to your lips to seek me, ah my love, ah my own, in me all that fire...

john donne No man is an Iland, intire of itselfe; every man is a peece of the Continent, a part of the maine; if a Clod bee washed away by the Sea, Europe is the lesse, as well as if a Promontorie were, as well as if a Manor of thy friends or of thine owne were; any mans death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankinde; And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; It tolls for thee. Which roughly translates to... No man is an island entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as any manner of thy friends or of thine own were; any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind. And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee

There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground, And swallows calling with their shimmering sound; And frogs in the pools singing at night, And wild plum-trees in tremulous white; Robins will wear their feathery fire Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire; And not one will know of the war, not one Will care at last when it is done. Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree If mankind perished utterly; And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn, Would scarcely know that we were gone... The poem has inspired novels, short stories and movies alike. There is a strange abstractness in it and a strange truthfulness too...

Laugh, and the world laughs with  you ;      Weep, and you weep  alone ; For the  sad old earth  must borrow its  mirth ,      But has  trouble enough  of its own. Sing, and the  hills will answer ;      Sigh, it is lost on the air; The  echoes   bound to a joyful sound ,      But shrink from voicing  care . Rejoice , and men will seek you;      Grieve, and they turn and go; They want  full measure of all your pleasure ,      But they  do not need your woe . Be glad, and your friends are many;      Be sad, and you lose them all; There are none to decline your  nectar'd wine ,      But  alone  you must  drink life's gall . Feast, and your halls are crowded;       Fast , and the world goes by. Succeed and give, and it helps you live,   ...