Poetry

Name: Poetry
Author: W. B. Yeats

W. B. Yeats

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Song of the Faeries

A man has a hope for heaven,
But soulless a faery dies,
As a leaf that is old, and withered and cold
When the wint’ry vapours rise.

Soon shall our wings be stilled,
And our laughter over and done,
So let us dance where the yellow lance
Of the barley shoots in the sun.

So let us dance on the fringed waves,
And shout at the wisest owls
In their downy caps, and startle the naps
Of the dreaming water-fowls.

And fight for the black sloe-berries,
For soulless a faery dies,
As a leaf that is old, and withered and cold
When the wintry vapours rise.

Love and Death

Behold the flashing waters,
A cloven, dancing jet,
That from the milk-white marble
For ever foam and fret;
Far off in drowsy valleys
Where the meadow-saffrons blow,
The feet of summer dabble
In their coiling calm and slow.
The banks are worn for ever
By a people sadly gay:
A Titan, with loud laughter,
Made them of fire and clay.
Go ask the springing flowers,
And the flowing air above,
What are the twin-born waters,
And they’ll answer Death and Love.

With wreaths of withered flowers
Two lonely spirits wait,
With wreaths of withered flowers,
’Fore paradise’s gate.
They may not pass the portal,
Poor earth-enkindled pair,
Though sad is many a spirit
Το pass and leave them there
Still staring at their flowers,
That dull and faded are.
If one should rise beside thee,
The other is not far.
Go ask the youngest angel,
She will say with bated breath,
By the door of Mary’s garden
Are the spirits Love and Death.

The Seeker

A Dramatic Poem in Two Scenes

Scene I

A woodland valley at evening. Around a wood-fire sit three shepherds; without a curve rises the smoke.

First Shepherd	Heavy with wool the sheep are gathered in, And through the mansion of the spirit rove My dreams o’er thoughts of plenty as the red- Eyed panthers in their desert caverns rove And rove unceasing round their dreadful brood.
Second Shepherd	O brother, lay thy flute upon thy lips, It is the voice of all our hearts that laugh.
	The first Shepherd* puts the flute to his lips; there comes from it a piercing cry. He drops it.*
First Shepherd	It is possessed.
Third Shepherd	Nay, give it me, and I will sound a measure; And unto it we’ll dance upon the sward.
	Puts it to his lips. A voice out of the flute still more mournful.
First Shepherd	An omen!
Second Shepherd	An omen!
Third Shepherd	A creeping horror is all over me.
	Enter an Old Knight. They cast themselves down before him.
Knight	Are all things well with you and with your sheep?
Second Shepherd	Yes, all is very well.
First Shepherd	Whence comest thou?
Knight	Shepherds, I came this morning to your land From threescore years of dream-led wandering Where spice isles nestle on the star-trod seas, And where the polar winds and waters wrestle In endless dark, and by the weedy marge Of India’s rivers, rolling on in light. But soon my wandering shall be done I know. A voice has told me how within this land There lies the long-lost forest of the sprite, The sullen wood. But many woods I see Where to themselves innumerable birds Make moan and cry.
First Shepherd	Within yon sunless valley Between the horned hills—
Knight	Shepherds, farewell! And peace be with you, peace and wealth of days.
Second Shepherd	Seek not that wood, for there the goblin snakes Go up and down, and raise their heads and sing With little voices songs of fearful things.
Third Shepherd	No shepherd foot has ever dared its depths.
First Shepherd	The very squirrel dies that enters it.
Knight	Shepherds, farewell!
	Goes.
Second Shepherd	He soon will be
First Shepherd	Ashes Before the wind.
Third Shepherd	Saw you his eyes a-glitter, His body shake?
Second Shepherd	Aye, quivering as yon smoke That from the fire is ever pouring up, Within the woodways, blue as the halcyon’s wing, Star-envious.
Third Shepherd	He was a spirit, brother.
Second Shepherd	The blessed God was good to send us such, To make us glad with wonder as we sat Weary of watching round the fire at night.

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Il prossimo da leggere

The Great Gatsby F. Scott Fitzgerald
You watch Gatsby stare at that green light across the bay and slowly realize the whole glittering party is built on wanting one thing he can't have. It's short, sad, and gorgeous sentence by sentence, best read in a couple of quiet sittings.
Crime and Punishment Fyodor Dostoevsky, tradotto da Constance Garnett
You spend the novel inside Raskolnikov’s feverish, self-justifying mind, then watch Porfiry unravel him through oddly playful conversations. It’s bleak, morally serious, and sometimes deliberately repetitive, but the pressure feels real, especially beside Sonia’s quiet compassion.
The Time Machine H. G. Wells
The Time Traveller lands in the year 802,701 expecting a paradise, and what he finds among the childlike Eloi and the pale Morlocks underground gets stranger and sadder the longer he stays. It's short, brisk Victorian science fiction with a genuinely bleak streak, especially that final beach.

Song of the Faeries

A man has a hope for heaven,
But soulless a faery dies,
As a leaf that is old, and withered and cold
When the wint’ry vapours rise.

Soon shall our wings be stilled,
And our laughter over and done,
So let us dance where the yellow lance
Of the barley shoots in the sun.

So let us dance on the fringed waves,
And shout at the wisest owls
In their downy caps, and startle the naps
Of the dreaming water-fowls.

And fight for the black sloe-berries,
For soulless a faery dies,
As a leaf that is old, and withered and cold
When the wintry vapours rise.

Love and Death

The Seeker

A Dramatic Poem in Two Scenes

Scene I

A woodland valley at evening. Around a wood-fire sit three shepherds; without a curve rises the smoke.

First Shepherd	Heavy with wool the sheep are gathered in, And through the mansion of the spirit rove My dreams o’er thoughts of plenty as the red- Eyed panthers in their desert caverns rove And rove unceasing round their dreadful brood.
Second Shepherd	O brother, lay thy flute upon thy lips, It is the voice of all our hearts that laugh.
	The first Shepherd* puts the flute to his lips; there comes from it a piercing cry. He drops it.*
First Shepherd	It is possessed.
Third Shepherd	Nay, give it me, and I will sound a measure; And unto it we’ll dance upon the sward.
	Puts it to his lips. A voice out of the flute still more mournful.
First Shepherd	An omen!
Second Shepherd	An omen!
Third Shepherd	A creeping horror is all over me.
	Enter an Old Knight. They cast themselves down before him.
Knight	Are all things well with you and with your sheep?
Second Shepherd	Yes, all is very well.
First Shepherd	Whence comest thou?
Knight	Shepherds, I came this morning to your land From threescore years of dream-led wandering Where spice isles nestle on the star-trod seas, And where the polar winds and waters wrestle In endless dark, and by the weedy marge Of India’s rivers, rolling on in light. But soon my wandering shall be done I know. A voice has told me how within this land There lies the long-lost forest of the sprite, The sullen wood. But many woods I see Where to themselves innumerable birds Make moan and cry.
First Shepherd	Within yon sunless valley Between the horned hills—
Knight	Shepherds, farewell! And peace be with you, peace and wealth of days.
Second Shepherd	Seek not that wood, for there the goblin snakes Go up and down, and raise their heads and sing With little voices songs of fearful things.
Third Shepherd	No shepherd foot has ever dared its depths.
First Shepherd	The very squirrel dies that enters it.
Knight	Shepherds, farewell!
	Goes.
Second Shepherd	He soon will be
First Shepherd	Ashes Before the wind.
Third Shepherd	Saw you his eyes a-glitter, His body shake?
Second Shepherd	Aye, quivering as yon smoke That from the fire is ever pouring up, Within the woodways, blue as the halcyon’s wing, Star-envious.
Third Shepherd	He was a spirit, brother.
Second Shepherd	The blessed God was good to send us such, To make us glad with wonder as we sat Weary of watching round the fire at night.

Il prossimo da leggere

The Great Gatsby F. Scott Fitzgerald

You watch Gatsby stare at that green light across the bay and slowly realize the whole glittering party is built on wanting one thing he can't have. It's short, sad, and gorgeous sentence by sentence, best read in a couple of quiet sittings.

Crime and Punishment Fyodor Dostoevsky, tradotto da Constance Garnett

You spend the novel inside Raskolnikov’s feverish, self-justifying mind, then watch Porfiry unravel him through oddly playful conversations. It’s bleak, morally serious, and sometimes deliberately repetitive, but the pressure feels real, especially beside Sonia’s quiet compassion.

The Time Machine H. G. Wells

The Time Traveller lands in the year 802,701 expecting a paradise, and what he finds among the childlike Eloi and the pale Morlocks underground gets stranger and sadder the longer he stays. It's short, brisk Victorian science fiction with a genuinely bleak streak, especially that final beach.