Way In Way Out
Le bonheur des dames
"Ich steh noch immer tastend an dem Tor..."
She's a twentieth century fox
Die Lesende
Von Wiederkehr zu Wiederkehr
Der Gestiefelte Kater. Die weibliche Version.
The icy sun
La valse de l'amour
Ahornherz
First Snow
Un bar aux Folies Bergère
Groß im Kleinen und klein im Großen
Eine Straßenkatze namens Seraphim
Floral Hypercub
Among the birches
Remembering the summer
Winterfall
Street Scene 1
Milota
Winter Cat
Man in White
Assistant
Wintertime Love
Autumn day
Shoes for Cinderella
Victoria
Moving
Du Levande
The pointing finger
Ich lebe mein Leben in wachsenden Ringen...
Endspiel
I sent to buy red flowers...
Dedicated to Garry Winogrand
Petit déjeuner de l'artiste minimaliste.
Monument to the unfortunate lover
Church of the Intercession of the Blessed Virgin M…
Сien años sin salchichas
Rainy day
Katzenuhren
Les Parapluies de Cherbourg
Danae
Love me tender
Sparrow
Dans le département de la chaussure
See also...
Vos photos de choc sans discrimination / Tus fotos de choque indiscriminado
Vos photos de choc sans discrimination / Tus fotos de choque indiscriminado
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White moths dance


The Song of Wandering Aengus
William Butler Yeats
I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.
When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire aflame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And some one called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.
Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands.
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.
William Butler Yeats
I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.
When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire aflame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And some one called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.
Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands.
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.
Ronald Stachowiak, aNNa schramm, Léopold, Günter Diel and 5 other people have particularly liked this photo
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