The liquid mirror that he dreamed of
Is polished ruby as the sun sets
And peace comes dropping slow from dawn’s veils above.
The swans still bask in Coole Park
And under bare Bulben’s head
His passionate youth has made its mark
As have the legends it has bred
***
Your grave is just as you wanted it
No fancy stone, no cliché phrase:
Just your words by the sun are lit.
What better way to sing your praise?
No saga no legend no myth
Has ever cast such a cold eye
On life, on death
William Butler Yeats, it is with a bow that we pass by.
Your grave is just as you wanted it
No fancy stone, no cliché phrase:
Just your words by the sun are lit.
What better way to sing your praise?
No saga no legend no myth
Has ever cast such a cold eye
On life, on death
William Butler Yeats, it is with a bow that we pass by.
A bow and a raised glass to one of my favourite poets. A poem written two years ago in Ireland, one of the rare surviving pieces of that period.
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