fredag 9 maj 2008


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 aflame,
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.

- W.B. Yeats

Jag hade glömt att jag kunde känna så här mycket. Jag hade glömt hur mycket jag vill leva. Och hur fantastiskt vackert poesi är.

2 kommentarer:

N sa...

Du, min kära, är enastående. Jag känner en sorg över det faktum att vi inte är vänner "på riktigt".

J sa...

its spreading