vendredi 19 juin 2009

Golden Apples

"I will find out where she has gone,

and kiss her lips, and take her hands,

and walk along long dappled grass,

and pluck till time and times are done,

The silver apples of the moon,

The golden apples of the sun."

W.B. Yeats ("The Song of Wandering Aengus")

Aucun commentaire: