When You Are Old

Source: The Book Potato

When you are old and gray and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled
And paced among the mountains overhead
And hid his face among a crowd of stars.

~ William Butler Yeats

When You Are Old

Source: The Book Potato

When you are old and gray and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled
And paced among the mountains overhead
And hid his face among a crowd of stars.

~ William Butler Yeats

The Big Heart

Photo credit: duane_j from morguefile.com

"Too many things are occurring for even a big heart to hold." - From an essay by W. B. Yeats

Big heart,

wide as a watermelon,

but wise as birth,

there is so much abundance

in the people I have:

Max, Lois, Joe, Louise,

Joan, Marie, Dawn,

Arlene, Father Dunne,

and all in their short lives

give to me repeatedly,

in the way the sea

places its many fingers on the shore,

again and again

and they know me,

they help me unravel,

they listen with ears made of conch shells,

they speak back with the wine of the best region.

They are my staff.

They comfort me.

They hear how

the artery of my soul has been severed

and soul is spurting out upon them,

bleeding on them,

messing up their clothes,

dirtying their shoes.

And God is filling me,

though there are times of doubt

as hollow as the Grand Canyon,

still God is filling me.

He is giving me the thoughts of dogs,

the spider in its intricate web,

the sun

in all its amazement,

and a slain ram

that is the glory,

the mystery of great cost,

and my heart,

which is very big,

I promise it is very large,

a monster of sorts,

takes it all in--

all in comes the fury of love.

~ Anne Sexton

The Big Heart

Photo credit: duane_j from morguefile.com

"Too many things are occurring for even a big heart to hold." - From an essay by W. B. Yeats

Big heart,

wide as a watermelon,

but wise as birth,

there is so much abundance

in the people I have:

Max, Lois, Joe, Louise,

Joan, Marie, Dawn,

Arlene, Father Dunne,

and all in their short lives

give to me repeatedly,

in the way the sea

places its many fingers on the shore,

again and again

and they know me,

they help me unravel,

they listen with ears made of conch shells,

they speak back with the wine of the best region.

They are my staff.

They comfort me.

They hear how

the artery of my soul has been severed

and soul is spurting out upon them,

bleeding on them,

messing up their clothes,

dirtying their shoes.

And God is filling me,

though there are times of doubt

as hollow as the Grand Canyon,

still God is filling me.

He is giving me the thoughts of dogs,

the spider in its intricate web,

the sun

in all its amazement,

and a slain ram

that is the glory,

the mystery of great cost,

and my heart,

which is very big,

I promise it is very large,

a monster of sorts,

takes it all in--

all in comes the fury of love.

~ Anne Sexton

The Second Coming

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

-- by William Butler Yeats

The Second Coming

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

-- by William Butler Yeats