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William Butler Yeats

He extendido mis sueños a tus pies

Además de ser una de las principales figuras literarias del siglo xx y ganador del Premio Nobel de Literatura de 1923, William Butler Yeats es el mayor poeta lírico que ha producido Irlanda. Yeats creó una vasta colección de historias, canciones y poesía del pasado histórico y legendario de Irlanda.

Esta recopilación incluye un gran número de obras, piezas que le han valido a Yeats el reconocimiento como uno de los más grandes poetas de su tiempo. La ilustradora Sandra Rilova nos lleva al universario literario de Yeats a través de cuarenta poemas esenciales.
67 бумажных страниц
Правообладатель
Bookwire
Дата публикации оригинала
2023
Год выхода издания
2023
Издательство
Nordica Libros
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Впечатления

  • Mauricio Coronelделится впечатлением2 года назад

    Hay aquí una colección de poemas que acercan con plácida fortuna a la obra poética de Yeats. Versos occidentales qué dan cuenta del color irlandés y de la sabiduría que aprecia la naturaleza.

  • Naomi Soteloделится впечатлением2 года назад
    👍Worth reading

  • Juan Díazделится впечатлением5 месяцев назад
    👍Worth reading
    🔮Hidden Depths
    💡Learnt A Lot
    🎯Worthwhile

Цитаты

  • Fabiola Bautistaцитирует2 года назад
    Bastante mal hay ya en el chillar del viento.
  • Ivana Melgozaцитируетв прошлом месяце
    THE DAWN

    I would be ignorant as the dawn

    That has looked down

    On that old queen measuring a town

    With the pin of a brooch,

    Or on the withered men that saw

    From their pedantic Babylon

    The careless planets in their courses,

    The stars fade out when the moon comes,

    And took their tablets and did sums;

    I would be ignorant as the dawn

    That merely stood, rocking the glittering coach

    Above the cloudy shoulders of the horses;

    I would be—for no knowledge is worth a straw—

    Ignorant and wanton as the dawn.
  • Ivana Melgozaцитирует3 месяца назад
    AN IRISH AIRMAN FORESEES HIS DEATH

    I know that I shall meet my fate

    Somewhere among the clouds above;

    Those that I fight I do not hate,

    Those that I guard I do not love;

    My country is Kiltartan Cross,

    My countrymen Kiltartan’s poor,

    No likely end could bring them loss

    Or leave them happier than before.

    Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,

    Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,

    A lonely impulse of delight

    Drove to this tumult in the clouds;

    I balanced all, brought all to mind,

    The years to come seemed waste of breath,

    A waste of breath the years behind

    In balance with this life, this death.

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