William Butler Yeats - Sailing to Byzantium

* William Butler Yeats

That is no country for old men. The young

In one another's arms, birds in the trees

– Those dying generations – at their song,

The salmon‐falls, the mackerel‐crowded seas,

Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long

Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.

Caught in that sensual music all neglect

Monuments of unageing intellect.

An aged man is but a paltry thing,

A tattered coat upon a stick, unless

Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing

For every tatter in its mortal dress,

Nor is there singing school but studying

Monuments of its own magnificence;

And therefore I have sailed the seas and come

To the holy city of Byzantium.

O sages standing in God's holy fire

As in the gold mosaic of a wall,

Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,

And be the singing‐masters of my soul.

Consume my heart away; sick with desire

And fastened to a dying animal

It knows not what it is; and gather me

Into the artifice of eternity.

Once out of nature I shall never take

My bodily form from any natural thing,

But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make

Of hammered gold and gold enamelling

To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;

Or set upon a golden bough to sing

To lords and ladies of Byzantium

Of what is past, or passing, or to come.

"Sailing to Byzantium" is a poem by William Butler Yeats, first published in the 1928 collection The Tower. It comprises four stanzas in ottava rima, each made up of eight ten-syllable lines. It uses a journey to Byzantium (Constantinople) as a metaphor for a spiritual journey. Yeats explores his thoughts and musings on how immortality, art, and the human spirit may converge. Through the use of various poetic techniques, Yeats's "Sailing to Byzantium" describes the metaphorical journey of a man pursuing his own vision of eternal life as well as his conception of paradise.

 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sailing_to_Byzantium

Where My Books go, by William Butler Yeats

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thedeadpoets | 27 de Março de 2008

This poem was written by William Butler Yeats in the late 19th century. Yeats is one of the most celebrated English language poets of all time. His poetry emphasized symbolism and imagery, tackling grand immaterial ideas with tangible verse.

This poem celebrates the wonder and magic of words, and how they can find people wherever they may be. It is a celebration of the fact that reading takes us places we would never have visited otherwise; reading can find us in our small towns and cluttered apartments in the middle of cement jungles and lift us out into the world.

I hope everyone is inspired to go forth and have words find you, wherever you are.

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Where My Books go, by William Butler Yeats

ALL the words that I utter,
And all the words that I write,
Must spread out their wings untiring,
And never rest in their flight,
Till they come where your sad, sad heart is,
And sing to you in the night,
Beyond where the waters are moving,
Storm-darken'd or starry bright.

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9/Jul 23:05
Carmen diz:

UM BOM FIM DE SEMANA, VICTOR! UM BEIJINHO :D
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megansspark | 16 de Outubro de 2008

poem by William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)
various artworks available at wikimedia commons
Music-Chopin

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OS PÁSSAROS BRANCOS - William Butler Yeats

OS PÁSSAROS BRANCOS
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* William Butler Yeats
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Quem me dera que fôssemos, amor, pássaros brancos sobre a espuma do mar!
Cansamo-nos da chama do meteoro antes de ele fugir e se extinguir;
E a chama da estrela azul do crepúsculo, suspensa sobre a orla do céu,
Despertou nos nossos corações, amor, uma tristeza que não pode morrer.
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Humedecida de orvalho chega uma lassitude daqueles que sonharam o lírio e a rosa;
Oh, não sonhes com eles, amor, a chama do meteoro que passa,
Ou a chama da estrela azul que se detém suspensa na queda do orvalho,
Pois quem me dera que nos tornássemos pássaros brancos sobre a espuma errante: eu e tu!
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Estou assombrado por inúmeras ilhas e muitas praias de Danaan
Onde o Tempo certamente nos esqueceria e a Tristeza não mais se aproximaria de nós;
Em breve estaríamos longe da rosa e do lírio e seríamos consumidos pelas chamas,
Se ao menos fôssemos pássaros brancos, amor, flutuando na espuma do mar!
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Compartilhado por Maria G.
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Creio que também apreciarás o poema de alguém que coloco lá no topo e que, sem saber como, ao longo de muitos anos, alberguei definitivamente.
Como o Malcolm Lowry e o Dylan Thomas, a Virgínia Wolf, etc...