söndag 23 april 2017

Poesi på en söndag

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now 
Is hung with bloom along the bough, 
And stands about the woodland ride 
Wearing white for Eastertide. 

Now, of my threescore years and ten, 
Twenty will not come again, 
And take from seventy springs a score, 
It only leaves me fifty more. 

And since to look at things in bloom 
Fifty springs are little room, 
About the woodlands I will go 
To see the cherry hung with snow.

Från A Shropshire Lad av A E Housman.

2 kommentarer:

Jenny B sa...

Tack för en andningspaus med skön poesi! Vackert, men också vemodigt, förstås.

Ingrid sa...

Jenny: Våren kan ofta kännas vemodig. Tidens flykt blir extra påtaglig.