Κυριακή 28 Μαΐου 2017

                                                        Θα πέσει στο χώμα σπόρος
οι κάμποι θα λάμψουν σαν χρυσάφι
θα καλύψουν τα στάχυα την άγονη γη
και ετσι χρυσαφένιος που θα ναι ο κόσμος
θα μαγευτεί ο Θάνατος
και θα αρνηθεί να πάρει άλλες ζωές.

Τρίτη 9 Μαΐου 2017

William Blake The Tiger


Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And, when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?

Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?