By Niall McArdle
Tuesday, January 28th marked the 75th anniversary of Irish poet William Butler Yeats
I didn’t have time to post anything because January 28th also happens to mark the birthday of this handsome fellow
So here, belatedly, is my choice of Yeats poem.
The Lake Isle of Innisfree
I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet’s wings.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.
The Fluff Is Raging 
Nice choice! Hope the birthday was fun.
LikeLike
well, i’m an old man now, cathy, so it was fairly quiet … hitting 37 really took it out of me. 😉
LikeLike
When you are old and grey and full of sleep?
LikeLike
yes – and I’ll dream of the soft look my eyes had once, and of their shadows deep; and how many loved my moments of glad grace
🙂
LikeLike
I adore Yeats. When I moved to the west of Ireland, the first thing I did was visit his grave. Then I went to Innisfree, it is stunning.
I have many favourites, but for me Sailing to Byzantium is probably my favourite “an aged man is but a paltry thing, a tattered coat upon a stick.” I love “The Wild Swans at Coole” also. I could just read his poetry all day.
LikeLike
The trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water
Mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water among the stones
Are nine-and-fifty swans.
The nineteenth autumn has come upon me
Since I first made my count;
I saw, before I had well finished,
All suddenly mount
And scatter wheeling in great broken rings
Upon their clamorous wings.
I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,
And now my heart is sore.
All’s changed since I, hearing at twilight,
The first time on this shore,
The bell-beat of their wings above my head,
Trod with a lighter tread.
Unwearied still, lover by lover,
They paddle in the cold
Companionable streams or climb the air;
Their hearts have not grown old;
Passion or conquest, wander where they will,
Attend upon them still.
But now they drift on the still water,
Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake’s edge or pool
Delight men’s eyes when I awake some day
To find they have flown away?
LikeLike
It’s so beautiful. Thank you!
LikeLike
Happy belated birthday! Mine is this Sunday. I share it with James Joyce and Shakira.
LikeLike
Joyce’s hips don’t lie
LikeLike
I am late to this feast Niall, but ‘When You Are Old’ is my favourite poem ever. Cheers, Pete.
LikeLike
i think that’s a lot of people’s favourite
LikeLike