I BRING you with reverent hands
The books of my numberless dreams,
White woman that passion has worn
As the tide wears the dove-grey sands,
And with heart more old than the horn
That is brimmed from the pale fire of time:
White woman with numberless dreams,
I bring you my passionate rhyme.
Posted by: naturalblu | March 15, 2006
A Poet To His Beloved / W.B. Yeats
Posted in My Poems
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That is a wonderful poem Fatoomeh
By: bakkouz on March 16, 2006
at 7:22 am
Well thx bakkouzEH
anyway want to talk about the pic.. the name of t sacred love o bas
By: naturalblu on March 16, 2006
at 9:37 pm
I want to suggest you add these little versus of the great american poet Walt Whiteman:
“For vainly through this world below
We seek affection,Naught but woe
Is with our earthy journey wove
And so the heart must look above
Or die in dull despair”
By: Amer on April 30, 2006
at 11:20 am