Mary Oliver

When When it’s over, it’s over, and we don’t know any of us, what happens then.So I try not to miss anything.I think, in my whole life, I have never missed The full moonor the slipper of its coming back.Or, a kiss.Well, yes, especially a kiss.

When When it’s over, it’s over, and we don’t know any of us, what happens then.So I try not to miss anything.I think, in my whole life, I have never missed The full moonor the slipper of its coming back.Or, a kiss.Well, yes, especially a kiss.

– Mary Oliver –

Swan: Poems and Prose Poems

© License assigned to YouCanQuoteME. License CC BY-NC 4.0 NC
📲 Copy this QR code to share the phrase wherever you want
QR del artículo

Do you want to publish your thoughts, reflections, or your own quotes?

Publish your quotes
Share our content

Related quotes

Robert Burns

Flow gently, sweet Afton,amang thy green braes,Flow gently, I’ll sing theea song in thy praise;My Mary’s asleepby thy murmuring stream,Flow gently, sweet Afton,disturb not her dream.Thou stock dove whose echoresounds thro’ the glen,Ye wild whistly blackbirdsin yon thorny den,Thou green crested lapwingthy screaming forbear,I charge you, disturb notmy slumbering fair.How lofty, sweet Afton,thy neighboring hills,Far mark’d with the coursesof clear winding rills;There daily I wanderas noon rises high,My flocks and my Mary’ssweet cot in my eye.How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below, Where, wild in the woodlands,the primroses blow;There oft, as mild eveningweeps over the lea,The sweet-scented birk shadesmy Mary and me.Thy crystal stream, Afton,how lovely it glides,And winds by the cot wheremy Mary resides;How wanton thy watersher snowy feet lave,As, gathering sweet flowerets,she stems thy clear wave.Flow gently, sweet Afton,amang thy green braes,Flow gently, sweet river,the theme of my lays; My Mary’s asleepby thy murmuring stream,Flow gently, sweet Afton,disturb not her dreams.

Robert Burns

Flow gently, sweet Afton,amang thy green braes,Flow gently, I’ll sing theea song in thy praise;My Mary’s asleepby thy murmuring stream,Flow gently, sweet Afton,disturb not her dream.Thou stock dove whose echoresounds thro’ the glen,Ye wild whistly blackbirdsin yon thorny den,Thou green crested lapwingthy screaming forbear,I charge you, disturb notmy slumbering fair.How lofty, sweet Afton,thy neighboring hills,Far mark’d with the coursesof clear winding rills;There daily I wanderas noon rises high,My flocks and my Mary’ssweet cot in my eye.How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below, Where, wild in the woodlands,the primroses blow;There oft, as mild eveningweeps over the lea,The sweet-scented birk shadesmy Mary and me.Thy crystal stream, Afton,how lovely it glides,And winds by the cot wheremy Mary resides;How wanton thy watersher snowy feet lave,As, gathering sweet flowerets,she stems thy clear wave.Flow gently, sweet Afton,amang thy green braes,Flow gently, sweet river,the theme of my lays; My Mary’s asleepby thy murmuring stream,Flow gently, sweet Afton,disturb not her dreams.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *