I have been reading Yeats...
I am haunted by numberless islands, and many a Dana-an shore,
Where Time would surely forget us, and Sorrow come near us no more,
So far from the rose and the lily and fret of the flame would we be,
Were we only white birds, my beloved, buoyed out on the foam of the sea!
or
He Who hath made the night of stars
For souls who tire and bleed,
Sent one of His great angels down
To help me in my need.
He Who is wrapped in purple robes,
With planets in His care,
Had pity on the least of things
Asleep upon a chair.
or
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck til time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.
and many other precious verses of love of the land, the landings of love, the pain of impermanence and bitter sweetness of homecomings and leavings, human tenderness and folly.
As I read, the light of the dull day penetrates the spacious attic where I sit and many birds are singing in the elder tree outside. It is a lovely thing to let one's spirit flow with poetry and become a white gull on the white tide, or even a dark little bird on our berry tree beside, and to sit dozing waiting for the great angel to descend with apples of silver and gold.
Replies
_/l\_
Carol English said:
Enwrought with golden and silver light
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light
I would spread the cloths under your feet
But I, being poor, have only my dreams
I have spread my dreams under your feet
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams
Yes, it is nice to sit and read and be stirred by such language.
I *love* Yeats! And I can picture you - Namo Amida Bu