In Memory Of Alfred Pollexfen
FIVE-AND-TWENTY years have gone
Since old William pollexfen
Laid his strong bones down in death
By his wife Elizabeth
In the grey stone tomb he made.
And after twenty years they laid
In that tomb by him and her
His son George, the astrologer;
And Masons drove from miles away
To scatter the Acacia spray
Upon a melancholy man
Who had ended where his breath began.
Many a son and daughter lies
Far from the customary skies,
The Mall and Eades's grammar school,
In London or in Liverpool;
But where is laid the sailor John
That so many lands had known,
Quiet lands or unquiet seas
Where the Indians trade or Japanese?
He never found his rest ashore,
Moping for one voyage more.
Where have they laid the sailor John?
And yesterday the youngest son,
A humorous, unambitious man,
Was buried near the astrologer,
Yesterday in the tenth year
Since he who had been contented long.
A nobody in a great throng,
Decided he would journey home,
Now that his fiftieth year had come,
And 'Mr. Alfred' be again
Upon the lips of common men
Who carried in their memory
His childhood and his family.
At all these death-beds women heard
A visionary white sea-bird
Lamenting that a man should die;
And with that cry I have raised my cry.
William Butler Yeats
Vous avez aimé cette poésie ? faites la connaître !
D'autres poésies de William Butler Yeats
A Bronze Head
HERE at right of the entrance this bronze head,
Human,...
A Coat
I MADE my song a coat
Covered with embroideries
Out...
A Cradle Song
THE angels are stooping
Above your bed;
They weary of...
A Crazed Girl
THAT crazed girl improvising her music.
Her poetry,...
A Deep-Sworn Vow
OTHERS because you did not keep
That deep-sworn vow have...
A Dialogue Of Self And Soul
i{My Soul} I summon to the winding ancient stair;
Set all...
A Dramatic Poem
The deck of an ancient ship. At the right of the stage is the...
A Dream Of Death
I DREAMED that one had died in a strange place
Near no...
A Drinking Song
WINE comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the...
A Drunken Man's Praise Of Sobriety
COME swish around, my pretty punk,
And keep me dancing...
Précédentes poésies
Wandering Singers
WHERE the voice of the wind calls our wandering feet,
Village Song
HONEY, child, honey, child, whither are you going?
Would...
Transcience
Nay, do not grieve tho' life be full of sadness,
Dawn will...
To The God of Pain
UNWILLING priestess in thy cruel fane,
Long hast thou...
To My Fairy Fancies
NAY, no longer I may hold you,
In my spirit's soft...
