Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Who will go drive with Fergus now
And pierce the deep woods 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 loves 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 disheveled wandering stars.
I know this by heart because of you, Ted.
"And if my dearest friend were dead,
I'd dance a measure on his grave." Yeats
