Song
The weight of the world
    is love.
Under the burden
    of solitude,
under the burden
    of dissatisfaction
    the weight,
the weight we carry
    is love.
Who can deny?
    In dreams
it touches
    the body,
in thought
    constructs
a miracle,
    in imagination
anguishes
    till born
in human--
looks out of the heart
    burning with purity--
for the burden of life
    is love,
but we carry the weight
    wearily,
and so must rest
in the arms of love
    at last,
must rest in the arms
    of love.
No rest
    without love,
no sleep
    without dreams
of love--
    be mad or chill
obsessed with angels
    or machines,
the final wish
    is love
--cannot be bitter
    cannot deny,
cannot withold
    if denied:
the weight is too heavy
    --must give
for no return
    as thought
is given
    in solitude
in all the excellence
    of its excess.
The warm bodies
    shine together
in the darkness,
    the hand moves
to the center
    of the flesh,
the skin trembles
    in happiness
and the soul comes
    joyful to the eye--
yes, yes,
    that's what
I wanted,
    I always wanted,
I always wanted,
    to return
to the body
    where I was born.
    Allen Ginsberg, San Jose, 1954