What Was Lost, por W. B. Yeats

W. B. Yeats

What Was Lost

I sing what was lost and dread what was won,

I walk in a battle fought over again,

My king a lost king, and lost soldiers my men;

Feet to the Rising and Setting may run,

They always beat on the same small stone.

#Irish #NobelPrize #XIXCentury #XXCentury

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Otras obras de W. B. Yeats...

The Hosting of the Sidhe

The host is riding from Knocknarea And over the grave of Clooth-na-Bare; Caoilte tossing his burning hair, And Niamh calling Away, come away: Empty your heart of its mortal dream.

#1899 #TheWindAmongTheReeds

The Dancer at Cruachan and Cro-Patrick

I, proclaiming that there is Among birds or beasts or men One that is perfect or at peace. Danced on Cruachan’s windy plain, Upon Cro-patrick sang aloud;

He Remembers Forgotten Beauty

When my arms wrap you round I press My heart upon the loveliness That has long faded from the world; The jewelled crowns that kings have hurl… In shadowy pools, when armies fled;

#1899 #TheWindAmongTheReeds

Supernatural Songs

Ribb at the Tomb of Baile and Aillinn BECAUSE you have found me in the pitc… With open book you ask me what I do. Mark and digest my tale, carry it afar To those that never saw this tonsured he…

An Image From a Past Life

He. Never until this night have I been… The elaborate starlight throws a reflect… On the dark stream, Till all the eddies gleam; And thereupon there comes that scream

The Winding Stair and Other Poems

IN MEMORY OF EVA GORE-BO… THE light of evening, Lissadell, Great windows open to the south, Two girls in silk kimonos, both Beautiful, one a gazelle.

Among School Children

I walk through the long schoolroom quest… A kind old nun in a white hood replies; The children learn to cipher and to sing… To study reading-books and histories, To cut and sew, be neat in everything

#1928 #TheTower

Sailing to Byzantium

That is no country for old men. The you… In one another’s arms, birds in the tree… —Those dying generations—at their song, The salmon—falls, the mackerel—crowded s… Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer…

#1928 #TheTower

A Prayer for my Daughter

Once more the storm is howling, and half… Under this cradle—hood and coverlid My child sleeps on. There is no obstac… But Gregory’s wood and one bare hill Whereby the haystack—and roof—levelling…

On a Political Prisoner

SHE that but little patience knew, From childhood on, had now so much A grey gull lost its fear and flew Down to her cell and there alit, And there endured her fingers’ touch

Crazy Jane Talks With the Bishop

I met the Bishop on the road And much said he and I. ‘Those breasts are flat and fallen now, Those veins must soon be dry; Live in a heavenly mansion,

Presences

THIS night has been so strange that it… As if the hair stood up on my head. From going-down of the sun I have dream… That women laughing, or timid or wild, In rustle of lace or silken stuff,

Meeting

Hidden by old age awhile In masker’s cloak and hood, Each hating what the other loved, Face to face we stood: ‘That I have met with such,’ said he,

To a Poet, Who Would Have Me Praise Certain Bad Poets, Imitators of His and Mine

You say, as I have often given tongue In praise of what another’s said or sung… ’Twere politic to do the like by these; But was there ever dog that praised his…

#1910 #TheGreenHelmetAndOtherPoems

Memory

ONE had a lovely face, And two or three had charm, But charm and face were in vain Because the mountain grass Cannot but keep the form

W. B. Yeats

What Was Lost

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