Allen Ginsberg: 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 withhold
       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.