Sunday, December 16, 2012

Máxima do dia: that is no country for old men

Sailing To Byzantium

That is no country for old men. The young
In one another's arms, birds in the trees
---Those dying generations---at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unaging intellect.

An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress,
Nor is there singing school but studying
Monuments of its own magnificence;
And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium.

O sages standing in God's holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing-masters of my soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.

Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come. 


  1. Neither for old men nor for old women.

    a) Markets

  2. Sim claro, até porque dos homens velhos ou novos, a maioria são mulheres...

  3. Considero Yeats um dos grandes, mas nem sempre concordo com ele.
    Há aqui um qualquer desespero que recuso me contagie. Não sei explicar-me melhor!

  4. Pode adivinhar as circunstâncias concretas que me levaram a procurar refúgio, ontem domingo, neste poema... À bon entendeur, salut!

  5. Nada com a minha vida pessoal nem dos meus, entenda-se!

  6. Maintenant je peut dire, moi aussi, à bon entendeur salut, meu caro Alcipe!

    Les jours sont gris
    Parfois, même noirs.
    Mais il faut toujours savoir
    Que Dieu est parmi les brebis
    Et qu'Il les conduit,
    Par des chemins insondables!

  7. Cara Helena, o amor e a vida são mais importantes do que a raiva. Sei que a preocupam coisas mais importantes do que as nossas raivas. Bem haja pelo seu cuidado!