a collection of poems I keep coming back to.
Utjeha kose
Gledo sam te sinoć. U snu. Tužan. Mrtvu.
U dvorani kobnoj, u idili cvijeća,
Na visokom odru, u agoniji svijeća,
Gotov da ti predam život kao žrtvu.Nisam plako. Nisam. Zapanjen sam stao
U dvorani kobnoj, punoj smrti krasne,
Sumnjajući da su tamne oči jasne
Odakle mi nekad bolji život sjao.Sve baš, sve je mrtvo: oči, dah i ruke,
Sve što očajanjem htjedoh da oživim
U slijepoj stravi i u strasti muke,U dvorani kobnoj, mislima u sivim.
Samo kosa tvoja još je bila živa,
Pa mi reče: Miruj! U smrti se sniva.— Antun Gustav Matoš, 1909
Sonnet 18
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer’s lease hath all too short a date;
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimm’d; And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade, Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st; Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
— William Shakespeare, 1609