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One of My Favourite Poems….

April 25, 2012

Always makes me cry…

i know knot why….

Dylan Thomas….

The Force that Through the Green Fuse Drives the Flower

The force that through the green fuse drives the flower
Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees
Is my destroyer.
And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose
My youth is bent by the same wintry fever.

The force that drives the water through the rocks
Drives my red blood; that dries the mouthing streams
Turns mine to wax.
And I am dumb to mouth unto my veins
How at the mountain spring the same mouth sucks.

The hand that whirls the water in the pool
Stirs the quicksand; that ropes the blowing wind
Hauls my shroud sail.
And I am dumb to tell the hanging man
How of my clay is made the hangman’s lime.

The lips of time leech to the fountain head;
Love drips and gathers, but the fallen blood
Shall calm her sores.
And I am dumb to tell a weather’s wind
How time has ticked a heaven round the stars.

And I am dumb to tell the lover’s tomb
How at my sheet goes the same crooked worm.

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6 Comments leave one →
  1. nadall permalink
    April 26, 2012 1:47 am

    oooof….to the bone.

    • April 26, 2012 3:56 am

      Isn’t it?

  2. dublinmick permalink
    April 26, 2012 2:20 pm

    I have always liked Kahlil Gibran. This particular Yeats poem has always fascinated me.

    The Second Coming
    TURNING and turning in the widening gyre
    The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
    Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
    Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
    The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
    The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
    The best lack all conviction, while the worst
    Are full of passionate intensity.

    Surely some revelation is at hand;
    Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
    The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
    When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
    Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
    A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
    A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
    Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
    Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
    The darkness drops again; but now I know
    That twenty centuries of stony sleep
    Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
    And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
    Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

    William Butler Yeats 13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939, Irish Poet

  3. nadall permalink
    April 26, 2012 5:55 pm

    Shiveringly prophetic.

  4. dublinmick permalink
    April 27, 2012 6:30 am

    Amazingly prophetic and is the rocking cradle Iraq? (cradle of civilization?)

  5. April 30, 2012 10:52 pm

    Reblogged this on PORTAFOLIO. BITACORA DE UN TRANSFUGA. 2000.2010.

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