THE WHITE BIRDS
by: W.B. Yeats
- 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!
'The White Birds' is reprinted from
An Anthology of Modern Verse. Ed. A. Methuen. London:
Methuen & Co., 1921. |
MORE
POEMS BY W.B. YEATS |
|