I've Come Within Range Of Hate. Terrifying,

He Who Has Nothing—it Has Been Said Many Times—has Nothing To Lose But His Chains.

I Want To Do To You What Spring Does With The Cherry Trees.

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

What Will They Say About My Poetry Who Never Touched My Blood?

I Have Never Thought Of My Life As Divided Between Poetry And Politics.