Tuesday, June 06, 2006

A Poem by W. B. Yeats

Based on the poems I have previously posted, you may have thought I only liked Dorothy Parker. And I will admit that Mrs. Parker is a favorite, but I do have collections of other poets on the bookshelf. One of those other poets is W.B.Yeats. And among my favorites of his, is "The Stolen Child." (Note: If you don't have the patience to read the poem, there is a music rendition of it posted at the bottom of this entry. The musical version is by Loreena McKennitt, from the cd "Elemental.")

The Stolen Child

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 faery vats.
Full of berries,
And of reddest stolen cherries.
Come away, O 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.

Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim gray sands with light,
Far off by furthest 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 waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.


Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,
In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout,
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that frop their tears
Over the young streams,
Come away, O 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.


Away with us he's going,
The solemn-eyed:
He'll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside;
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 waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
From a world more full of weeping than he can understand.


W.B. Yeats

I'm not sure how good the sound quality will be, but I thought we'd give it a try!!

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1 comment:

Bones said...

Everytime I read his name I want to say W.Y. Beats. I have no idea why but that cracks me up. Great poem though, I like.