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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=512646" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>By Night The muses told me.</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">By night the muses snatched me away, in to their <br> loveliest <br>Abode where the gods grow fond of. But poor I am in word to describe <br>The heavenly refinement of this humble paradise.<br>Laying me helplessly on this sour grass and looking into the early skies as a lover<br>On the tour of painful love and yet whispering in my ears as my ears quiver for answers <br>My dear poet the fairest of them all, whose heart is as loveliest as a thousand bouquets of roses laid by the lover's bed. <br>Grow within your thought the learning of love and let the world be indeed a beautiful place for you.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Though I do not challenge your words great muses, whose radiate skin bring light in darkness, whose word flow from your mouth as you were present when the world came to being, my great and wonderful muses, whose song feels the heart of the faint lover and bring to tame the proudest heart of the lion on a mid day hunt.<br>Your beauty I as a mortal i dare not compare any beauty with.<br>How should I love, how should I give my heart and not get pain in return, <br>You trained my heart and though I am weak, spirit me away in to your humble blossom<br>And let me rest my head on your golden lap.<br>For my lips are so moisten with words from my heart, I am not in control of my self.<br>If I, a lover of a thousand women, how then should I, a god like me <br>In mortal flesh prevent my pleasures for over taking me.<br>Hence my muse answered, </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br> my dear poet and god, who I bestow my graces upon, who <br>Are the hands I write my songs and poem with, do no despair, write what ever I tell you through your heart and understand my plight, but if still you do not comprehend go and listen to my dear god Ovid, it was him Venus thought the art of love</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>But oh my dear lord and love muses, your words grace my heart, but my mind is not at peace<br>Ovid my great and wonderful love teacher, who none compares not even Shakespeare with his renown wits and words' sit with open eyes and heart applaud when he delivers the speech of love. But still I am a lover of thousand women.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My dearest, whom I endowed with the riches of words, hear me, your heart though full of wonder love, it is with it I deliver the power of love through, learn to live with it my young poet.<br>Tell the loveliest women how you feel and if she does not comprehend, craft them into words on paper, go my young poet and tell the ladies of the world through your words how elegant they seem in there natural beauty, how beauty grows and fade. Tell them to grace there appearance with inner beauty for the goddess and muses shall be with you.<br>You are my handy work, the man of a thousand lover, forgive cupid for his jealous looks my dear poet live and enjoy your fruitful days as young, soon old age comes fleeting in a chariot.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Samuel+Donkor">Samuel Donkor</a><div class=q>
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 loveliest 
Abode where the gods grow fond of. But poor I am in word to describe 
The heavenly refinement of this humble paradise.
Laying me helplessly on this sour grass and looking into the early..."></div>
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