terça-feira, dezembro 13, 2005

Then sing, ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song!

Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind;
In the primal sympathy
Which having been must ever be;
In the soothing thoughts that spring
Out of human suffering;
In the faith that looks through death,
In years that bring the philosophic mind.


W. Wordsworth
Ode: Intimations Of Immortality From Recollections Of Early Childhood

7 comentários:

chOURIÇO disse...

Um bocado triste, não?

lena disse...

tu leste bem? :)

LolaViola disse...

miss you

lena disse...

:)*

agua_quente disse...

"We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind;"

Depends on what remains behind...
Mas como me atrevo eu a fazer comentários a Wordsworth? :))
beijos

Bárbara Vale-Frias disse...

"We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind"

Gostei. :)

lena disse...

é lindo, sim :)**

está aqui completo


um bom domingo para quem passar por cá!*:)