walkTheCat();

. . . being dead, we rise,
Dream and so create
Translunar Paradise.


. . . being dead, we rise,
Dream and so create
Translunar Paradise.

I have prepared my peace
With learned Italian things
And the proud stones of Greece,
Poet’s imaginings

And memories of love,
Memories of the words of women,
All those things whereof

Man makes a superhuman
Mirror-resembling dream.

 

 


 

 

And till his intellect grows sure,
That all’s arranged in one clear view,
Pursues the thoughts that I pursue,
Then stands in judgment on his soul,
And, all work done, dismisses all
Out of intellect and sight
And sinks at last into the night.

Out of intellect and sight
And sinks at last into the night.

 

 

  …………………… ~Yeats (1927)

 

 

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