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Those Dancing Days Are Gone

Madame Sarkô agitando o poema do Yeats com o Lou Reed. Loucuras de juventude.

Those Dancing Days Are Gone
William Butler Yeats

Come, let me sing into your ear;
Those dancing days are gone,
All that silk and satin gear;
Crouch upon a stone,
Wrapping that foul body up
In as foul a rag:
I carry the sun in a golden cup.
The moon in a silver bag.

Curse as you may I sing it through;
What matter if the knave
That the most could pleasure you,
The children that he gave,
Are somewhere sleeping like a top
Under a marble flag?
I carry the sun in a golden cup.
The moon in a silver bag.

I thought it out this very day.
Noon upon the clock,
A man may put pretence away
Who leans upon a stick,
May sing, and sing until he drop,
Whether to maid or hag:
I carry the sun in a golden cup,
The moon in a silver bag.
posted at 08:51:13 on 20-03-2008 by DJ Mandacaru - Category: A hora do DJ Mandacaru


Comentários

Zeno wrote:

Post sumário, como as roupas de Madame.
20-03-2008 08:54:47


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