<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=493775" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Art of Poetry</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">To gaze at a river made of time and water<br>and remember Time is another river.<br>To know we stray like a river<br>and our faces vanish like water.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">To feel that waking is another dream<br>that dreams of not dreaming and that the death<br>we fear in our bones is the death<br>that every night we call a dream.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">To see in every day and year a symbol<br>of all the days of man and his years, <br>and convert the outrage of the years<br>into a music, a sound, and a symbol.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">To see in death a dream, in the sunset<br>a golden sadnesssuch is poetry, <br>humble and immortal, poetry, <br>returning, like dawn and the sunset.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sometimes at evening there's a face<br>that sees us from the deeps of a mirror.<br>Art must be that sort of mirror, <br>disclosing to each of us his face.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They say Ulysses, wearied of wonders, <br>wept with love on seeing Ithaca, <br>humble and green. Art is that Ithaca, <br>a green eternity, not wonders.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Art is endless like a river flowing, <br>passing, yet remaining, a mirror to the same<br>inconstant Heraclitus, who is the same<br>and yet another, like the river flowing.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">-Jorge Luis Borges</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Ric+S.+Bastasa">Ric S. Bastasa</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=493775" data-title="The Art of Poetry de Ric S. Bastasa" data-description="To gaze at a river made of time and water and remember Time is another river. To know we stray like a river and our faces vanish like water. To feel that waking is another dream that dreams of not dreaming and that the death we fear in our bones ..."></div> </div> </div>

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