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William Butler YeatsOh, my pedal,
How many loved your moments of glad grace, and loved the pilgrim soul in you.
The silver apples of the moon
The golden apples of the sun.
the rain of the flower
like the raindrop of the nature ,
falls over my eyelashes,my nose
and my lips.
Looking forward to the sky,
Like my stolen petal's color.
blue to the grey,
grey to fall asleep aside the glowing bars.
But now,
near the beginning edge
it's orange and pink,
full of stories.
One
is my favor
and the other
is my enermy, once.
【Sorry|Sorry for my own petal】My blue sky
has the palm leaf all the time
Except
the breezing wind in the dark autumn.
Down by the sally Gardens,
his face hid behind a heaven
amid a crowd of stars.
If I were Miss Maud Gonne,
Not the Tin whistle,
But the Uillean pipes.
All for the Celtic.
It's my partition of my dear flower.
