Wednesday, April 11, 2007

Poem 7

It was supposed to be #8, but that one requires me to scan it in and I'm feeling lazy. So I'll do that tomorrow. Maybe.

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 grey,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.

~W.B. Yeats

This was one of the first poems I ever really learned to love and I'm still haunted by the beauty of the language.

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