I<\/p>\n
He disappeared in the dead of winter:
\nThe brooks were frozen, the airports almost deserted,
\nAnd snow disfigured the public statues;
\nThe mercury sank in the mouth of the dying day.
\nWhat instruments we have agree
\nThe day of his death was a dark cold day.<\/p>\n
Far from his illness
\nThe wolves ran on through the evergreen forests,
\nThe peasant river was untempted by the fashionable quays;
\nBy mourning tongues
\nThe death of the poet was kept from his poems.<\/p>\n
But for him it was his last afternoon as himself,
\nAn afternoon of nurses and rumours;
\nThe provinces of his body revolted,
\nThe squares of his mind were empty,
\nSilence invaded the suburbs,
\nThe current of his feeling failed; he became his admirers.<\/p>\n
Now he is scattered among a hundred cities
\nAnd wholly given over to unfamiliar affections,
\nTo find his happiness in another kind of wood
\nAnd be punished under a foreign code of conscience.
\nThe words of a dead man
\nAre modified in the guts of the living.<\/p>\n
But in the importance and noise of to-morrow
\nWhen the brokers are roaring like beasts on the floor of the
\nBourse,
\nAnd the poor have the sufferings to which they are fairly
\naccustomed,
\nAnd each in the cell of himself is almost convinced of his
\nfreedom,
\nA few thousand will think of this day
\nAs one thinks of a day when one did something slightly unusual.<\/p>\n
What instruments we have agree
\nThe day of his death was a dark cold day.<\/p>\n
II<\/p>\n
You were silly like us; your gift survived it all:
\nThe parish of rich women, physical decay,
\nYourself. Mad Ireland hurt you into poetry.
\nNow Ireland has her madness and her weather still,
\nFor poetry makes nothing happen: it survives
\nIn the valley of its making where executives
\nWould never want to tamper, flows on south
\nFrom ranches of isolation and the busy griefs,
\nRaw towns that we believe and die in; it survives,
\nA way of happening, a mouth.<\/p>\n
III<\/p>\n
Earth, receive an honoured guest:
\nWilliam Yeats is laid to rest.
\nLet the Irish vessel lie
\nEmptied of its poetry.<\/p>\n
In the nightmare of the dark
\nAll the dogs of Europe bark,
\nAnd the living nations wait,
\nEach sequestered in its hate;<\/p>\n
Intellectual disgrace
\nStares from every human face,
\nAnd the seas of pity lie
\nLocked and frozen in each eye.<\/p>\n
Follow, poet, follow right
\nTo the bottom of the night,
\nWith your unconstraining voice
\nStill persuade us to rejoice;<\/p>\n
With the farming of a verse
\nMake a vineyard of the curse,
\nSing of human unsuccess
\nIn a rapture of distress;<\/p>\n
In the deserts of the heart
\nLet the healing fountain start,
\nIn the prison of his days
\nTeach the free man how to praise.<\/p>\n
Va desapar\u00e8ixer en la cruesa de l’hivern,
\nels rierols eren gla\u00e7ats, els aeroports quasi deserts,
\nla neu desfigurava les est\u00e0tues p\u00fabliques,
\ns’enfonsava el mercuri dins la boca del dia agonitzant.
\nEls instruments que posse\u00efm coincideixen:
\nel dia de la seva mort va ser de fred i n\u00favols.<\/p>\n
Lluny de la seva malaltia,
\nels llops escodrinyaven els boscos sempre verds,
\nel riu del camp no es va deixar temptar pels molls de moda;
\nles boques afligides
\nvan ocultar als poemes la mort del seu poeta.<\/p>\n
Per\u00f2 per a ell va ser l’\u00faltim captard com a ell mateix,
\nun captard de rumors i d’infermeres;
\nvan insurgir-se les prov\u00edncies del seu cos,
\nles places de la seva ment van quedar buides;
\nels suburbis, els va envair el silenci,
\ni es va estroncar el corrent dels seus sentits;
\nva convertir-se en els que l’admiraven.<\/p>\n
Ara ja est\u00e0 escampat per cent ciutats
\ni totalment donat a afectes forasters,
\na haver de ser feli\u00e7 en altres boscos,
\ni a rebre c\u00e0stigs sota un codi de consci\u00e8ncia estranger.
\nEls mots d’un home mort
\ns\u00f3n esmenats en els budells dels vius.<\/p>\n
Per\u00f2 ja en la import\u00e0ncia i el soroll del dem\u00e0
\nquan els aglotistes bramin com les b\u00e8sties a la Borsa
\ni els m\u00e9s pobres pateixin els suplicis a que ja estan for\u00e7a avesats,
\ni cadasc\u00fa dintre la seva cel\u00b7la estigui conven\u00e7ut de ser ben lliure,
\nuns pocs milers hi pensaran, en aquest dia,
\ntal com pensen en dies que els han dut alguna cosa poc habitual.
\nEls instruments que posse\u00efm coincideixen:
\nel dia de la seva mort va ser de fred i n\u00favols.<\/p>\n
II
\nVas ser insensat com tots nosaltres; el teu do va sobreviure a tot:
\na la parr\u00f2quia de les dones riques, a la corrupci\u00f3 f\u00edsica,
\na tu mateix. La boja Irlanda et va llen\u00e7ar a fer versos.
\nAra Irlanda t\u00e9 encara la seva bogeria i el seu clima,
\nperqu\u00e8 la poesia no fa que passi res: nom\u00e9s vol sobreviure
\na la vall del seu fer-se, on cap executiu
\nno hi vol potinejar, i flueix cap el sud,
\nde masos a\u00efllats i de penes actives,
\nde les crues ciutats on creiem i morim, i sobreviu
\nuna manera de passar les coses, una boca.<\/p>\n
III
\nTerra, acull un hoste insigne;
\nWilliam Yeats vol descansar,
\ndeixa que el carner d’Irlanda
\nvingui buit del seu parlar
\nEls gossos d’Europa borden
\nal malson de la foscor,
\ni els pa\u00efsos vius esperen
\nenclaustrats d’odi i dolor.<\/p>\n
L’horror de la inel\u00b7lig\u00e8ncia
\nviu a cada rostre hum\u00e0,
\ni els mars de bondat s’escampen
\ngla\u00e7ats en tots els esguards.<\/p>\n
Segueix, poeta, la via
\nque et porta al fons de la nit,
\ni amb la veu alleujadora
\nallibera’ns del neguit.<\/p>\n
Que els teus solcs de poesia
\nesborrin els mals presents,
\ni amb un \u00e8xtasi de pena
\ncanta els nostres sofriments.<\/p>\n
Fes brollar la font del b\u00e0lsam
\nals deserts del cor hum\u00e0,
\ni a la pres\u00f3 dels seus dies
\nensenya l’home lliure de pregar.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I He disappeared in the dead of winter: The brooks were frozen, the airports almost deserted, And snow disfigured the public statues; The mercury sank in the mouth of the dying day. What instruments we have agree The day of his death was a dark cold day. Far from his illness The wolves ran on … <\/p>\n