Poetry

By W. B. Yeats.

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Song of the Faeries

A man has a hope for heaven,
But soulless a faery dies,
As a leaf that is old, and withered and cold
When the wint’ry vapours rise.

Soon shall our wings be stilled,
And our laughter over and done,
So let us dance where the yellow lance
Of the barley shoots in the sun.

So let us dance on the fringed waves,
And shout at the wisest owls
In their downy caps, and startle the naps
Of the dreaming water-fowls.

And fight for the black sloe-berries,
For soulless a faery dies,
As a leaf that is old, and withered and cold
When the wintry vapours rise.

Love and Death

Behold the flashing waters,
A cloven, dancing jet,
That from the milk-white marble
For ever foam and fret;
Far off in drowsy valleys
Where the meadow-saffrons blow,
The feet of summer dabble
In their coiling calm and slow.
The banks are worn for ever
By a people sadly gay:
A Titan, with loud laughter,
Made them of fire and clay.
Go ask the springing flowers,
And the flowing air above,
What are the twin-born waters,
And they’ll answer Death and Love.

With wreaths of withered flowers
Two lonely spirits wait,
With wreaths of withered flowers,
’Fore paradise’s gate.
They may not pass the portal,
Poor earth-enkindled pair,
Though sad is many a spirit
Το pass and leave them there
Still staring at their flowers,
That dull and faded are.
If one should rise beside thee,
The other is not far.
Go ask the youngest angel,
She will say with bated breath,
By the door of Mary’s garden
Are the spirits Love and Death.

The Seeker

A Dramatic Poem in Two Scenes

Scene I

A woodland valley at evening. Around a wood-fire sit three shepherds; without a curve rises the smoke.

Heavy with wool the sheep are gathered in,
And through the mansion of the spirit rove
My dreams o’er thoughts of plenty as the red-
Eyed panthers in their desert caverns rove
And rove unceasing round their dreadful brood.

O brother, lay thy flute upon thy lips,
It is the voice of all our hearts that laugh.

It is possessed.

Nay, give it me, and I will sound a measure;
And unto it we’ll dance upon the sward.

An omen!

An omen!

A creeping horror is all over me.

Are all things well with you and with your sheep?

Yes, all is very well.