Irish verse

Dear thoughts are in my mind

And my soul soars enchanted,

As I hear the sweet lark sing

In the clear air of the day.

For a tender beaming smile

To my hope has been granted,

And tomorrow she shall hear

All my fond heart would say.

 

I shall tell her all my love,

All my soul's adoration;

And I think she will hear me

And will not say me nay.

It is this that fills my soul

With its joyous elation

As I hear the sweet lark sing

In the clear air of the day.

The lake 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 live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,

Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;

There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,

And evening full of the linnet's 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

W.B. Yeats

Why should I blame her that she filled my days

With misery, or that she would of late

Have taught to ignorant men most violent ways,

Or hurled the little streets upon the great,

Had they but courage equal to desire?

What could have made her peaceful with a mind

That nobleness made simple as a fire,

With beauty like a tightened bow, a kind

That is not natural in an age like this.

Being high and solitary and most stern?

Why, what could she have done being what

she is?

Was there another Troy for her to burn?