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Há 2 dias · Como no poema de William Butler Yeats, o centro não segura os extremos e o caos desce sobre o mundo Ninguém vivo esteve presente ao tempo em que o império romano deslizava para o que convencionamos chamar a decadência do dito. A Roma dos Augustos acabara nos desvios, loucuras e perfídias dos ...
Há 1 dia · Manuel António Pina/Poema/Poesia em Língua Portuguesa Manuel António Pina – Café do molhe 10 10America/Sao_Paulo maio 10America/Sao_Paulo 2024 30 30America/Sao_Paulo março 30America/Sao_Paulo 2024 Nelson Santander Deixe um comentário
Há 3 dias · The Daily Poem offers one essential poem each weekday morning. From Shakespeare and John Donne to Robert Frost and Emily Dickinson, The Daily Poem curates a broad and generous audio anthology of the best poetry ever written, read-aloud by David Kern and an assortment of various contributors.
Há 1 dia · William Butler Yeats. As I thought of these things, I drew aside the curtains and looked out into the darkness, and it seemed to my troubled fancy that all those little points of light filling the sky were the furnaces of innumerable divine alchemists, who labour continually, turning lead into gold, weariness into ecstasy, bodies into souls ...
Há 4 dias · And the salmon behold, and the ousel too, My love, we will hear, I and you, we will hear, The calling afar of the doe and the deer. And the bird in the branches will cry for us clear, And the cuckoo unseen in his festival mood; And death, oh my fair one, will never come near. In the bosom afar of the fragrant wood. William Butler Yeats.
Há 5 dias · Vacillation. I. Between extremities. Man runs his course; A brand, or flaming breath. Comes to destroy. All those antinomies. Of day and night; The body calls it death, The heart remorse. But if these be right. What is joy? II. A tree there is that from its topmost bough. Is half all glittering flame and half all green.
Há 4 dias · A Dialogue Of Self And Soul. My Soul. I summon to the winding ancient stair; Set all your mind upon the steep ascent, Upon the broken, crumbling battlement, Upon the breathless starlit air, “Upon the star that marks the hidden pole; Fix every wandering thought upon. That quarter where all thought is done:
