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 I live alone in the bee-loud glade.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of morning
To where the cricket sings;
There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow.
And evening full of the linnets 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
…..W.B.Yeats…..
THE
STOLEN CHILD Where the wave of moonlight glosses the
dim gray sand with light, Where the wandering water gushes from
the hills above Glen-Car, Away with us, he’s going, the
solemn-eyed;
Where dips the rocky highland of Sleuth Wood in
the lake,
There lies a leafy island where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water-rats.
There we’ve hid our fairy vats full of berries,
And of reddest stolen cherries.
Come away, O, human child!
To the woods and waters wild with a fairy hand in hand,
For the worlds more full of weeping than you can understand.
Far off by farthest Rosses we foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances, Mingling hands, and mingling glances,
Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap, and chase the frothy bubbles;
While the world is full of troubles.
And is anxious in its sleep.
Come away! O, human child! To the woods and waters wild.
With a fairy hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.
In pools among the rushes, that scarce could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout, And whispering in their ears;
We give them evil dreams,
Leaning softly out from ferns that drop their tears
Of dew on the young streams.
Come! O human child! To the woods and waters wild,
With a fairy hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.
He’ll hear no more the lowing of the calves on the warm hill-side.
Or the kettle on the hob sing peace into his breast;
Or see the brown mice bob round and round the oatmeal chest.
For he comes the human child, to the woods and waters wild,
With a fairy hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than he can understand.
