Fair Daffodils, we weep to see
You haste away so soon;
As yet the early-rising sun
Has not attain'd his noon.
Stay, stay,
Until the hasting day
Has run
But to the even-song;
And, having pray'd together, we
Will go with you along.
We have short time to stay, as you,
We have as short a spring;
As quick a growth to meet decay,
As you, or anything.
We die
As your hours do, and dry
Away,
Like to the summer's rain;
Or as the pearls of morning's dew,
Ne'er to be found again.
2 коментарі:
Det verkar finnas en särskild kärlek till påskliljan bland engelska poeter. Jag tänker på Wordsworth:
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
....
....
Tack, Bodil! Jatteroligt med Wordsworths "daffodils"!
Jag laste Becketts dikt "thither" igar dar han namner Herricks "fair daffodils" (darifran Herricks dikt idag):
thither
a far cry
for one
so little
fair daffodils
march then
then there
then there
then thence
daffodils
again
march then
again
a far cry
again
for one
so little
[1976]
(http://books.google.com/books?id=DFUc5K_J6JQC&pg=PA36&dq=thither+beckett&ei=F5nmS5K1JJOQyQTizentCQ&hl=uk&cd=2#v=onepage&q&f=false)
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