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Skribent: Simon
Emne: Re: Poetisk fryd..
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A storm-beaten old watch-tower,
A blind hermit rings the hour.
All-destroying sword-blade still
Carried by the wandering fool.
Gold-sewn silk on the sword-blade,
Beauty and fool together laid.
*
The nineteenth Century and after
Though the great song return no more
There's keen delight in what we have:
The rattle of pebbles on the shore
Under the receding wave.
*
Tredie vers fra: Vacillation
Get all the gold and silver that you can,
Satisfy ambition, or antimate
The trivial days and ram them with the sun,
And yet upon those maxims meditate:
All women dote upon an idle man
Although their children need a rich estate;
No man has ever lived that had enough
Of children's gratitude or woman's love.
- W. B. Yeats.
mvh
Simon
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