Who will go drive with Fergus now,
And pierce the deep wood's woven shade,
And dance upon the level shore?
Young man, lift up your russet brow,
And lift your tender eyelids, maid,
And brood on hopes and fear no more.
And no more turn aside and brood
Upon love's bitter mystery;
For Fergus rules the brazen cars,
And rules the shadows of the wood,
And the white breast of the dim sea
And all dishevelled wandering stars.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Yeats for March Madness: Who Goes With Fergus
I forgot to post this on St Paddy's Day. Go Bucks. (And yes, Drackman--- Jim Tressel is an embarassing phony).