quinta-feira, 9 de julho de 2015

Oscar Wilde



Yet each man kills the thing he loves,
By each let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword!
Some kill their love when they are young,
And some when they are old;
Some strangle with the hands of Lust,
Some with the hands of Gold:
The kindest use a knife, because
The dead so soon grow cold.
Some love too little, some too long,
Some sell, and others buy;
Some do the deed with many tears,
And some without a sigh:
For each man kills the thing he loves,
Yet each man does not die. 





Nenhum comentário:

Postar um comentário

Cuéntame.

Eu já...

... corri de boi bravo. ... fui embora querendo ficar. ... deixei de fazer coisas por medo de perigo que só existia na minha cabeça. ... vol...