dimanche, 13 novembre 2011
THE SONG OF WANDERING AENGUS
I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.
When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire a-flame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And some one called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.
Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.
William Butler Yeats
The Wind Among the Reeds - 1899.
03:04 Publié dans art, coup de coeur, litterature, poèmes | Lien permanent | Commentaires (1) | Facebook |
Commentaires
Ah ! Merci pour ça ! Et pour Donovan et seulement Donovan et ses "r" roulés. Quand nous sommes allés en Irlande, pas question de ne pas aller à Drumcliffe où se trouve la tombe de Yeats. Grand moment si j'ose dire.
Un grand merci rétrospectif à ma prof d'anglais au collège, si résolument 19e siècle mais qui m'a tant fait aimer ces pays et leurs poètes !
Écrit par : La fargussienne | vendredi, 17 février 2012
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