Kiss me out of the bearded barley
Nightly, beside the green, green grass
Swing, swing, swing the spinning step
You wear those shoes and I will wear that dress
Oh, kiss me beneath the milky twilight
Lead me out on the moonlit floor
Lift your open hand
Strike up the band and make the fireflies dance
Silver moon's sparkling
So kiss me
Nightly, beside the green, green grass
Swing, swing, swing the spinning step
You wear those shoes and I will wear that dress
Oh, kiss me beneath the milky twilight
Lead me out on the moonlit floor
Lift your open hand
Strike up the band and make the fireflies dance
Silver moon's sparkling
So kiss me
Vejo que gosta bastante de poesia. Eu também. Se me permite, deixo-lhe dois poemas de W.B. Yeats, seguindo a atmosfera que por aqui se respira. Ainda que, devido ao meu estado de espírito, tanto alguns dos belíssimos que vem publicando como estes dois que deixo e outros mais que eu tanto aprecio, me entristeçam bastante. Contudo não resisto.
ResponderEliminarHE WISHES HER BELOVED WERE DEAD
Were you but lying cold and dead,
And lights were paling out of the West,
You would come hither, and bend your head,
And I would lay my head on your breast;
And you would murmur tender words,
Forgiving me, because you were dead:
Nor would you rise and haste away,
Though you have the will of the wild birds,
But know your hair was bound and wound
About the stars and moon and sun:
O would, beloved, that you lay
Under the dock-leaves in the ground
While lights were paling one by one.
Só mais este. Triste mas lido.
AN IRISH AIRMAN FORESEES HIS DEATH
I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere above the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate,
Those that I guard I do not love;
My country is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan's poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Nor leave them happier than before,
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.
Obrigado, Maria.
ResponderEliminarYeats é um dos poetas mais estimados nesta Biblioteca.