by: W.B. Yeats

I  went out to the hazel wood,

Because a fire was in my head,

And cut and peeled a hazel wand,

And hooked a berry to a thread;

And when white moths were on the wing,

And moth-like stars were flickering out,

I dropped the berry in a stream

And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor

I went to blow the fire a-flame,

But something rustled on the floor,

And some one called me by my name:

It had become a glimmering girl

With apple blossom in her hair

Who called me by my name and ran

And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering

Through hollow lands and hilly lands,

I will find out where she has gone,

And kiss her lips and take her hands;

And walk among long dappled grass,

And pluck till time and times are done

The silver apples of the moon,

The golden apples of the sun.

About carlos

I'm a curious person, of reasonable intellect, "on the beach" (retired) and enjoying my interest in anthropology, language, civil rights, and a few other areas. I've been a hippie/student/aerospace tech writer in the '60s, a witness to the Portuguese revolution in the ‘70s, a defense test engineer and witness to the Guatemalan genocide in the '80s, and a network engineer for an ISP in the '90s. Now I’m a student and commentator until my time is up. I've spent time under the spell of the Mesoamerican pyramids and the sweet sound of the Portuguese language. I've lived in Europe, traveled in Brazil, Central America, Iceland, New Zealand, and other places. My preferred mode of travel is with a backpack and I eat (almost) anything local. Somehow, many of the countries I have been to have had civil unrest (for which I was not responsible). I'm open to correspond with anyone who might share my liberal, humanist interests. I live in San Buenaventura, California.
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  1. Carlos:

    What such a delicate poem! I knew practically nothing about Yeats ‘ work.

    Thank you very much for this present.

    And now I think I can go to bed with this poem in my head as an “accalanto”.


    • carlos says:

      Yes, thank you. I think I may publish more of the poems I love instead of my horrible attempts at translating Português/Brasileiro poets.

      • Oh, Carlos, não seja tão modesto!!!

        Prometo que breve lerei suas últimas traduções. Não o fiz ainda porque estou com muita matéria acumulada para leitura. Tenho estado também com meu pc muito lento por causa de um antivírus que não tem me ajudado. Mas prometo que logo os lerei e farei uma crítica honesta sobre suas traduções.

        Mas, “honestly” adorei Yeats!!!

        Um abraço.


        • carlos says:

          Clara, Eu leio por amor à língua e cultura. Minha estadia de cinco anos em Cascais é a razão para isso e depois de 35 anos, eu sou quase capaz de escrevê-lo. Tenho razões para ser humilde. Obrigado por tua generosidade. – Carlos

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