Blowing in the wind

Étiquettes

W.B. Yeats

To a Child dancing in the Wind

Dance there upon the shore;
What need have you to care
For wind or water’s roar?
And tumble out your hair
That the salt drops have wet;
Being young you have not known
The fool’s triumph, nor yet
Love lost as soon as won,
Nor the best labourer dead
And all the sheaves to bind.
What need have you to dread
The monstrous crying of wind?

W.B. Yeats

Après le silence

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silence, W.B. Yeats

After long silence

Speech after long silence; it is right,
All other lovers being estranged or dead,
Unfriendly lamplight hid under its shade,
The curtains drawn upon unfriendly night,
That we descant and yet again descant
Upon the supreme theme of Art and Song:
Bodily decrepitude is wisdom; young
We loved each other and were ignorant.

W.B. Yeats

Pitié de l’amour

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amour, pitié, W.B. Yeats

The pity of love

A pity beyond all telling
Is hid in the heart of love:
The folk who are buying and selling,
The clouds on their journey above,
The cold wet winds ever blowing,
And the shadowy hazel grove
Where mouse-grey waters are flowing,
Threaten the head that I love.

William Butler Yeats

La pitié de l’amour

Pitié plus qu’on ne saurait dire
Se cache au cœur de l’amour,
Puisque tous ces gens qui trafiquent
Et le charroi des nuées,
Et tous ces vents froids qui soufflent
Sans fin leur trompe de pluie,
Et ce bois de noisetiers sombre
Où l’eau court comme souris grises,
Tout menace l’être que j’aime.

trad. Yves Bonnefoy

La vie ou l’œuvre

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W.B. Yeats

The choice

The intellect of man is forced to choose
Perfection of the life, or of the work,
And if it take the second must refuse
A heavenly mansion, raging in the dark.
When all that story’s finished, what’s the news?
In luck or out the toil has left its mark:
That old perplexity an empty purse,
Or the day’s vanity, the night’s remorse.

W. B. Yeats

Death

Étiquettes

mort, W.B. Yeats

Death

Nor dread nor hope attend
A dying animal;
A man awaits his end
Dreading and hoping all;
Many times he died,
Many times rose again.
A great man in his pride
Confronting murderous men
Casts derision upon
Supersession of breath;
He knows death to the bone —
Man has created death.

W.B. Yeats