One day when God fell asleep And the Holy Ghost went off flying, He got into a box of miracles and stole three. With the first he made it so that no one would know he had run away. With the second he made himself a human boy forever. With the third he created a Christ eternally crucified And left him nailed to the cross that there is in Heaven Where he’s used as a model for other crosses. Then he ran away to the sun And came down on the first ray he caught.

— Alberto Caeiro

Other times when I hear the wind blow feel that just hearing the wind blow makes it worth being born.

— Alberto Caeiro

Praise be to God I’m not good, And have the natural egotism of flowers And rivers following their bed Preoccupied without knowing it Only with blooming and flowing. This is the only mission in the World, This—to exist clearly, And to know how to do it without thinking about it.)

— Alberto Caeiro

Sensor incommode Como Adar à chuvaQuando o vent create e Pierce Que chose main.

— Alberto Caeiro

She goes on with her beautiful hair and mouth like before, I go on like before, alone in the field. It’s like my head had been lowered, And if I think this, and raise my headland the golden sun dries the need to cry I can’t stop having. How vast the field and interior love... ! I look, and I forget, like dryness where there was water and trees losing their leaves.

— Alberto Caeiro

She’s a manner of speaking. Even the flowers don’t come back, or the green leaves. There are new flowers, new green leaves. There are other beautiful days. Nothing comes back, nothing repeats itself, because everything is real.

— Alberto Caeiro

Something changed in part of reality — my knees and my hands. What science has knowledge for this? The blind man goes on his way and I don’t make any more gestures. It’s already not the same time, or the same people, or anything the same. This is being real.

— Alberto Caeiro

Sometimes in the evening on Summer days, Even when there’s not a breeze at all, it seems Like there’s a light breeze blowing for a minute But the trees are unmoving In every leaf of their leaves And our feelings have had an illusion, An illusion of what would please them...

— Alberto Caeiro

That lady has a piano. It’s nice, but it’s not the running of rivers Or the murmuring trees make . Who needs a piano? It’s better to have ears And love Nature.

— Alberto Caeiro

That thing over there was more there than it’s there! Yes, sometimes I cry about the perfect body that doesn’t exist. But the perfect body is the bodies body there can be, And the rest are the dreams men have, The myopia of someone who doesn’t look very much,

— Alberto Caeiro