Thursday, May 17, 2001

The Withering Of The Boughs Comments

Rating: ★1.9

I CRIED when the moon was mutmuring to the birds:
'Let peewit call and curlew cry where they will,
I long for your merry and tender and pitiful words,
For the roads are unending, and there is no place to my mind.'
...
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William Butler Yeats
wind hopeless chains island
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William Butler Yeats

William Butler Yeats

County Dublin / Ireland
William Butler Yeats
William Butler Yeats
County Dublin / Ireland
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