miércoles, 20 de mayo de 2009

The Magi.

Now as at all times I can see in the mind's eye,
In their stiff, painted clothes, the pale unsatisfied ones
Appear and disappear in the blue depth of the sky
With all their ancient faces like rain-beaten stones,
And all their helms of silver hovering side by side,
And all their eyes still fixed, hoping to find once more,
Being by Calvary's turbulence unsatisfied,
The uncontrollable mystery on the bestial floor.

by William Butler Yeats

No hay comentarios:

Publicar un comentario

Usted acaba de escuchar parte de la conversación casi interminable conmigo misma que durará toda mi vida y cuyo archivo comparto con la nada virtual. Siéntase libre de opinar del tema en cuestión.