Saturday, March 3, 2012

The White Birds by Irish poet W.B. Yeats

THE WHITE BIRDS


  I would that we were, my beloved, 
white birds on the foam of the sea!
  We tire of the flame of the meteor, 
before it can fade and flee;
  And the flame of the blue star of twilight, 
hung low
    on the rim of the sky,
  Has awaked in our hearts, my beloved, 
a sadness that may not die. 
 
 
 A weariness comes from those dreamers, 
dew dabbled, the lily and rose;
  Ah, dream not of them, my beloved, 
the flame of the meteor that goes,
  Or the flame of the blue star that lingers 
hung low
    in the fall of the dew:
  For I would we were changed to white birds 
on the
    wandering foam: I and you! 
 
 
 I am haunted by numberless islands, 
and many a Danaan shore,
  Where Time would surely forget us, 
and Sorrow come near us no more;
  Soon far from the rose and the lily, 
and fret of the flames would we be,
  Were we only white birds, my beloved, 
buoyed out on the foam of the sea!
 
 


Read more about this Nobel Prize winning Irish poet at Wikipedia.


* This media file is in the public domain in the United States.

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