William Butler Yeats, muitas vezes apenas designado por W. B. Yeats, (Dublin, 13 de junho de 1865 - Menton, França, 28 de janeiro de 1939) foi um poeta, dramaturgo e místico irlandês. Atuou ativamente no Renascimento Literário Irlandês e foi co-fundador do Abbey Theatre.
Suas obras iniciais eram caracterizadas por tendência romântica
exuberante e fantasiosa, que transparece no título da sua colectânea de
1893, The Celtic Twilight ("O Crepúsculo Celta"). Posteriormente, por volta dos seus 40 anos, e em resultado da sua relação com poetas modernistas, como Ezra Pound, e também do seu envolvimento activo no nacionalismo irlandês, o seu estilo torna-se mais austero e moderno.
Foi também senador irlandês, cargo que exerceu com dedicação e seriedade. Foi galardoado com o Nobel de Literatura de 1923.
O Comité de entrega do prémio justificou a sua decisão pela "sua
poesia sempre inspirada, que através de uma forma de elevado nível
artístico dá expressão ao espírito de toda uma nação." Em 1934
compartilhou o Prémio Gothenburg para poesia com Rudyard Kipling.
in Wikipédia
The Wild Swans at Coole
The trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water
Mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water among the stones
Are nine-and-fifty Swans.
The nineteenth autumn has come upon me
Since I first made my count;
I saw, before I had well finished,
All suddenly mount
And scatter wheeling in great broken rings
Upon their clamorous wings.
I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,
And now my heart is sore.
All’s changed since I, hearing at twilight,
The first time on this shore,
The bell-beat of their wings above my head,
Trod with a lighter tread.
Unwearied still, lover by lover,
They paddle in the cold
Companionable streams or climb the air;
Their hearts have not grown old;
Passion or conquest, wander where they will,
Attend upon them still.
But now they drift on the still water,
Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake’s edge or pool
Delight men’s eyes when I awake some day
To find they have flown away?
William Butler Yeats
The trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water
Mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water among the stones
Are nine-and-fifty Swans.
The nineteenth autumn has come upon me
Since I first made my count;
I saw, before I had well finished,
All suddenly mount
And scatter wheeling in great broken rings
Upon their clamorous wings.
I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,
And now my heart is sore.
All’s changed since I, hearing at twilight,
The first time on this shore,
The bell-beat of their wings above my head,
Trod with a lighter tread.
Unwearied still, lover by lover,
They paddle in the cold
Companionable streams or climb the air;
Their hearts have not grown old;
Passion or conquest, wander where they will,
Attend upon them still.
But now they drift on the still water,
Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake’s edge or pool
Delight men’s eyes when I awake some day
To find they have flown away?
William Butler Yeats
Sem comentários:
Enviar um comentário