William B. Yeats: "Those Dancing Days Are Gone" Carla Bruni

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Come, let me sing into your ear; Those dancing days are gone, All that silk and satin gear; Crouch upon a stone, Wrapping that foul body up In as foul a rag: I carry the sun in a golden cup. The moon in a silver bag. Curse as you may I sing it through; What matter if the knave That the most could pleasure you, The children that he gave, Are somewhere sleeping like a top Under a marble flag? I carry the sun in a golden cup. The moon in a silver bag. I thought it out this very day. Noon upon the clock, A man may put pretence away Who leans upon a stick, May sing, and sing until he drop, Whether to maid or hag: I carry the sun in a golden cup, The moon in a silver bag.

Channel: Music
Uploaded: November 30, 1999 at 12:00 am
Autor: llocofoco

Length: 04:07
Rating: 4.6946564
Vistas: 68761

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