William Butler Yeats (Уильям Батлер Йейтс)

To Some I Have Talked with by the Fire

WHILE I wrought out these fitful Danaan rhymes,
My heart would brim with dreams about the times
When we bent down above the fading coals
And talked of the dark folk who live in souls
Of passionate men, like bats in the dead trees;
And of the wayward twilight companies
Who sigh with mingled sorrow and content,
Because their blossoming dreams have never bent
Under the fruit of evil and of good:
And of the embattled flaming multitude
Who rise, wing above wing, flame above flame,
And, like a storm, cry the Ineffable Name,
And with the clashing of their sword-blades make
A rapturous music, till the morning break
And the white hush end all but the loud beat
Of their long wings, the flash of their white feet. 

1. For Anne Gregory
2. The Rose of Battle
3. The Old Men Admiring Themselves in the Water
4. The Rose of the World
5. The Lover Tells of the Rose in His Heart

Распечатать (Print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1797

Последние стихотворения

To English version