irlanda
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W.B. Yeats (2)
To The Rose Upon The Rood Of Time Red Rose, proud Rose, sad Rose of all my days! Come near me, while I sing the ancient ways: Chuchulain battling with the bitter tide; The Druid, grey, wood-nurtured, quiet-eyed, Who cast… Continue reading
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W.B. Yeats (I)
The Coming of Wisdow with Time Though leaves are many, the root is one; Through all the lying days of my youth I swayed my leaves and flowers in the sun; Now I may wither into the truth. +++++ Com… Continue reading
Leveza e Esperança 