Friday, December 29, 2017

more books, less hate!





more books, less hate!
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1 comment:

  1. Maria FrazãoDecember 29, 2017 at 5:25 PM

    há livros de ódio
    e livros de Amor
    abençoadamente muitos mais de Amor
    eu leio muito, imenso, e sinto que és também um amante de livros

    eu
    posso viver sem muita coisa
    sem livros e sem amor nunca
    ler é bom porque mergulhamos nos mundos de outros
    fazendo deles o nosso próprio mundo
    odiar...não me parece que odeie alguém ou alguma coisa
    claro, há imensas coisas que me nauseiam
    e tento fazer muito contra essas coisas
    no entanto acho odiar uma palavra má
    que livros lês?





    Ephemera - Poem by William Butler Yeats


    'Your eyes that once were never weary of mine
    Are bowed in sotrow under pendulous lids,
    Because our love is waning.'
    And then She:
    'Although our love is waning, let us stand
    By the lone border of the lake once more,
    Together in that hour of gentleness
    When the poor tired child, passion, falls asleep.
    How far away the stars seem, and how far
    Is our first kiss, and ah, how old my heart!'
    Pensive they paced along the faded leaves,
    While slowly he whose hand held hers replied:
    'Passion has often worn our wandering hearts.'
    The woods were round them, and the yellow leaves
    Fell like faint meteors in the gloom, and once
    A rabbit old and lame limped down the path;
    Autumn was over him: and now they stood
    On the lone border of the lake once more:
    Turning, he saw that she had thrust dead leaves
    Gathered in silence, dewy as her eyes,
    In bosom and hair.
    'Ah, do not mourn,' he said,
    'That we are tired, for other loves await us;
    Hate on and love through unrepining hours.
    Before us lies eternity; our souls
    Are love, and a continual farewell.'
    William Butler Yeats

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