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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=360121" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>What Does It Mean</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=360121" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">It does not know it glitters<br>It does not know it flies<br>It does not know it is this not that.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=360121" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">And, more and more often, agape,<br>With my Gauloise dying out,<br>Over a glass of red wine,<br>I muse on the meaning of being this not that.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=360121" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Just as long ago, when I was twenty,<br>But then there was a hope I would be everything,<br>Perhaps even a butterfly or a thrush, by magic.<br>Now I see dusty district roads<br>And a town where the postmaster gets drunk every day<br>Melancholy with remaining identical to himself.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=360121" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">If only the stars contained me.<br>If only everything kept happening in such a way<br>That the so-called world opposed the so-called flesh.<br>Were I at least not contradictory. Alas.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Czeslaw+Milosz">Czeslaw Milosz</a></strong></div>

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