I’ve been on a Yeats kick, mostly because I have a paper to write about him, (a critical head, whatever that means), and I couldn’t sleep the other night. I broke my foot last week and the pain wakes me in the middle of the night so I read. Not that Yeats puts me to sleep…far from it. In fact, I’m dazzled like no other at this point and can’t wait to dig into Blake and Shelley as they were his influences. But, like a song that you can’t get out of your head, an earworm, I have a few lines from one of his most quoted works stuck in mine:
Come away, oh human child,
To the waters and the wild
With a faery hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.
(from The Stolen Child, WBY)
So I wrote this in his honor:
I spent the night alone with Yeats,
For slumber would not break,
I wondered softly at his feats,
Before the dawn did wake.
I pondered over young and old,
And why they cannot see.
I questioned how they fight and scold,
And then it came to me.
Through his verse I chanced to glean,
A common thread between us,
And past his meter I have seen,
The phantoms through the fuss.
The heart, the soul, the mind, the man,
Pass on from age to age,
Yet, a kindred flame we all can fan,
Lights our way across the page.