“I don't know who it is who lives or dies, who rests or wakes, but it is your heart that distributes all the graces of the daybreak in my breast.”

“If you no longer live,if you my beloved, my love, if you have died,all the leaves will fall in my breast,it will rain in my soul night and day,the snow will burn my heart,I shall walk with frost and fire and deathand snow,my feet will want to walk to where youare sleeping, butI shall live”

“My duty moves along with my song:I am I am not: that is my destiny.I exist not if I do not attend to the painof those who suffer: they are my pains.For I cannot be without existing for all,for all who are silent and oppressed,I come from the people and I sing for them:my poetry is song and punnishment.”

“When I sleep every night,what am I called or not called?And when I wake, who am Iif I was not I while I slept?”

“Body of my woman, I will persist in your grace.”

“I have slept with you all night long while the dark earth spins with the living and the dead, and on waking suddenly in the midst of the shadow my arm encircled your waist. Neither night nor sleep could separate us.”

“Over your breasts of motionless current,over your legs of firmness and water,over the permanence and the prideof your naked hairI want to be, my love, now that the tears arethrowninto the raucous baskets where they accumulate,I want to be, my love, alone with a syllableof mangled silver, alone with a tip of your breast of snow.”