Luís Vaz de Camões:
"Erros meus, má fortuna, amor ardente
Em minha perdição se conjuraram;

Os erros e a fortuna sobejaram,
A grande dor das cousas que passaram,
Que as magoadas iras me ensinaram
Ornam mil perfeições o teu semblante:
Eugénio de Andrade:

Desamparadas, inocentes, leves. Tecidas são de luz e são a noite. E mesmo pálidas verdes paraísos lembram ainda.
Quem as escuta? Quem as recolhe, assim, cruéis, desfeitas, nas suas conchas puras?
Até o ar azul se tornou grades
E a luz do sol se tornou impura
Charles Baudelaire
Homme libre, toujours tu chériras la mer! La mer est ton miroir; tu contemples ton âme Dans le déroulement infini de sa lame, Et ton esprit n'est pas un gouffre moins amer.

Tu te plais à plonger au sein de ton image; Tu l'embrasses des yeux et des bras, et ton coeur Se distrait quelquefois de sa propre rumeur Au bruit de cette plainte indomptable et sauvage.
Vous êtes tous les deux ténébreux et discrets: Homme, nul n'a sondé le fond de tes abîmes; Ô mer, nul ne connaît tes richesses intimes, Tant vous êtes jaloux de garder vos secrets!
Et cependant voilà des siècles innombrables Que vous vous combattez sans pitié ni remords, Tellement vous aimez le carnage et la mort, Ô lutteurs éternels, ô frères implacables! "
Dylan Thomas
"Do not go gentle into that good night
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Pablo Neruda
Sê

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