The White Birds
January 30, 2006
W. B. Yeats
- 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 awakened 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!
(falstaff reads the poem)
Entry Filed under: English, William Butler Yeats. .
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