I WOULD that we were, my beloved, white birds on the foam of the sea! <br />We tire of the flame of the meteor, before it can fade and flee; <br />And the flame of the blue star of twilight, hung low on the rim of the sky, <br />Has awaked in our hearts, my beloved, a sadness that may not die. <br />A weariness comes from those dreamers, dew-dabbled, the lily and rose; <br />Ah, dream not of them, my beloved, the flame of the meteor that goes, <br />Or the flame of the blue star that lingers hung low in the fall of the dew: <br />For I would we were changed to white birds on the wandering foam: I and you! <br />I am haunted by numberless islands, and many a Danaan shore, <br />Where Time would surely forget us, and Sorrow come near us no more; <br />Soon far from the rose and the lily and fret of the flames would we be, <br />Were we only white birds, my beloved, buoyed out on the foam of the sea!<br /><br />William Butler Yeats<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-white-birds/
