Complexion and forme prove superhuman,
That pale, long visaged company
That air in immortality
Completeness of their passions won;
Now they ride the wintry dawn
Where the Ben Bulben sets the scene.
Here's the gist of what they mean.
Many times man lives and dies
Between his two eternities,
That of race and that of soul,
And ancient Ireland knew it all.
Whether man die in his bed
Or the rifle knocks him dead,
A brief parting from those dear
Is the worst man has to fear.
W. B. Yeats
...If the time hides a magic inside, that can join souls that go together through the times, over the reality of the present...
In a field by a
river my love and I did lie
and on my naked shoulders she too proud to cry
She said that I must leave her, an icy tear she froze
How could I melt the heart of a Wild Irish Rose?
Well a gipsy she has made of me, a servant of
the street
and back to bed I've travelled to taste love as sweet
Well the heart it knows no reasons, and reasons never knows
as I lie with them I'm thinking of a Wild Irish Rose
Well I saw the city of angels, it brought a
devil out in me
and Hell's hotel on Sunset showed a whore no mercy
As the orange sky was screaming from the roof I let her go
These are the dizzying heights that brought me my Wild Irish Rose
Now red is the rose that she layed on my grave
A life is what she wanted and life I surely gave
like hundred men before me
they lay lieing here in rows
Young man, bloody, as Wild Irish Rose.
I have found this song time ago, in mp3
format, sung by Bono.
You should hear the warm, the melody and the feelings that he was putting
into, he has simpy enchanted me. The text then is really poetic .."A
gipsy she has made of me, a servant of the street..", a loneliness
similar to the ones Ireland give us, waiting to come back..
