Πριν 150 χρόνια, παρά μια ημέρα - 13 Ιουνίου 1865 - γεννήθηκε στην Ιρλανδία ο William Butler Yeats, ένας από τους μεγάλους ποιητές της χώρας αλλά και του κόσμου όλου.
A Coat
I made my song a coat
Covered with embroideries
Out of old mythologies
From heel to throat;
But the fools caught it,
Wore it in the world's eyes
As though they'd wrought it.
Song, let them take it,
For there's more enterprise
In walking naked.
Placebo I or Medusa - δημιουργός: Πέγκυ Κλιάφα (http://www.peggykliafa.com/)
The Lover mourns for the Loss of Love
Pale brows, still hands and dim hair,
I had a beautiful friend
And dreamed that the old despair
Would end in love in the end:
She looked in my heart one day
And saw your image was there;
She has gone weeping away.
Κοιτάξτε λεπτομέρεια του εκπληκτικού αυτού πολυελαίου και μαντέψτε με τι υλικό είναι φτιαγμένος!
The Choice
The intellect of man is forced to choose
Perfection of the life, or of the work,
And if it take the second must refuse
A heavenly mansion, raging in the dark.
When all that story's finished, what's the news?
In luck or out the toil has left its mark:
That old perplexity an empty purse,
Or the day's vanity, the night's remorse.
A Coat
I made my song a coat
Covered with embroideries
Out of old mythologies
From heel to throat;
But the fools caught it,
Wore it in the world's eyes
As though they'd wrought it.
Song, let them take it,
For there's more enterprise
In walking naked.
Placebo I or Medusa - δημιουργός: Πέγκυ Κλιάφα (http://www.peggykliafa.com/)
The Lover mourns for the Loss of Love
Pale brows, still hands and dim hair,
I had a beautiful friend
And dreamed that the old despair
Would end in love in the end:
She looked in my heart one day
And saw your image was there;
She has gone weeping away.
Κοιτάξτε λεπτομέρεια του εκπληκτικού αυτού πολυελαίου και μαντέψτε με τι υλικό είναι φτιαγμένος!
The Choice
The intellect of man is forced to choose
Perfection of the life, or of the work,
And if it take the second must refuse
A heavenly mansion, raging in the dark.
When all that story's finished, what's the news?
In luck or out the toil has left its mark:
That old perplexity an empty purse,
Or the day's vanity, the night's remorse.
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