(via jonimitchell)

vega-ofthe-lyre:

She Escapes the Film Noir by Jeannine Hall Gailey

(via velificantes)

On a wet pavement the white sky recedes
mottled black by the inverted
pillars of the red elms,
in perspective, that lift the tangled
net of their desires hard into
the falling rain.

This is the sadness of the sea -
waves like words, all broken -
a sameness of lifting and falling mood.

A mermaid found a swimming lad,
Picked him for her own,
Pressed her body to his body,
Laughed; and plunging down
Forgot in cruel happiness
That even lovers drown.

bibi:

W. B. Yeats, 1932. by National Media Museum on Flickr.

(via stannisbaratheon)

You swallowed everything, like distance. Like the sea, like time. In you everything sank.

Es tan corto el amor, y es tan largo el olvido.

(via aubreylstallard)

Tom Hiddleston reads When You Are Old by W. B. Yeats

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

(via alexbracken)

(via bodaciouscans)

nevver:

April is the cruelest month