Youtor
quotThe Circus Animals Desertionquot by W B Yeats read by Tom OBedlam
>> YOUR LINK HERE: ___ http://youtube.com/watch?v=CXd4c10nN38
Talking of ladders, I had a step-ladder which I loved dearly and which always served me well. All the same, I wish I had known my real ladder. • Serious analysis can be found here: • http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Circ... • The circus posters come from: • http://www.allposters.co.uk • I • I sought a theme and sought for it in vain, • I sought it daily for six weeks or so. • Maybe at last, being but a broken man, • I must be satisfied with my heart, although • Winter and summer till old age began • My circus animals were all on show, • Those stilted boys, that burnished chariot, • Lion and woman and the Lord knows what. • II • What can I but enumerate old themes, • First that sea-rider Oisin led by the nose • Through three enchanted islands, allegorical dreams, • Vain gaiety, vain battle, vain repose, • Themes of the embittered heart, or so it seems, • That might adorn old songs or courtly shows; • But what cared I that set him on to ride, • I, starved for the bosom of his faery bride. • And then a counter-truth filled out its play, • 'The Countess Cathleen' was the name I gave it; • She, pity-crazed, had given her soul away, • But masterful Heaven had intervened to save it. • I thought my dear must her own soul destroy • So did fanaticism and hate enslave it, • And this brought forth a dream and soon enough • This dream itself had all my thought and love. • And when the Fool and Blind Man stole the bread • Cuchulain fought the ungovernable sea; • Heart-mysteries there, and yet when all is said • It was the dream itself enchanted me: • Character isolated by a deed • To engross the present and dominate memory. • Players and painted stage took all my love, • And not those things that they were emblems of. • III • Those masterful images because complete • Grew in pure mind, but out of what began? • A mound of refuse or the sweepings of a street, • Old kettles, old bottles, and a broken can, • Old iron, old bones, old rags, that raving slut • Who keeps the till. Now that my ladder's gone, • I must lie down where all the ladders start • In the foul rag and bone shop of the heart.
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