segunda-feira, 23 de fevereiro de 2009


RED Rose, proud Rose, sad Rose of all my days!
Come near me, while I sing the ancient ways:
Cuchulain battling with the bitter tide;
The Druid, grey, wood-nurtured, quiet eyed,
Who cast round Fergus dreams, and ruin untold;
And thine own sadness, whereof stars, grown old
In dancing silver-sandalled on the sea,
Sing in their high and lonely melody.
Come near, that no more blinded by man's fate,
I find under the boughs of love and hate,
In all poor foolish things that live a day,
Eternal beauty wandering on her way.

Come near, come near, come near -- Ah, leave me still
A little space for the rose-breath to fill!
Lest I no more hear common things that crave;
The weak worm hiding down in its small cave,
The field-mouse running by me in the grass,
And heavy mortal hopes that toil and pass;
But seek alone to hear the strange things said
By God to the bright hearts of those long dead,
And learn to chaunt a tongue men do not know
Come near; I would, before my time to go,
Sing of old Eire and the ancient ways:
Red Rose, proud Rose, sad Rose of all my days.

W. B. Yeats (1865-1939)

Tirado daqui

2 comentários:

António Chaves Ferrão disse...

Amigo João
A propósito de um comentário que teve a amabilidade de deixar no nosso blog, talvez ache interessante esta leitura:
O movimento comunista no século XX

João disse...

Caro António:

Muitíssimo obrigado!

Vai de encontro ao que penso e disse na altura, mas está muito mais desenvolvido e documentado.