--William Butler Yeats
The Song of Wandering Angus
I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.
When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire aflame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And some one called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.
Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dangled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.
LOOK
I've always sworn I would never get a tattoo (it seems like everyone has one, and most of them are so blah) but then I found these, and I've been wavering a bit. These are stunning.
My Pinterest tattoo page!
WRITE!
Of tulips.
Proud, white tulips.
Time is always pressing in
Uncomfortably,
With a dull beauty.
I look incessantly.
And there is good sort of beauty.
It is you.
Not to be shaken
From bough to bough
Like a wayfaring leaf.
you would say
I am merely a cat wrapping
Itself about your legs.
It is true.
I escaped the harsh reality of
The city years ago.
I remember the bars.
The switches,
And never being calm.
In the mornings
The light ran through the buildings
And mixed up everything.
