Dah Duit (Hi) and welcome


 “Life is a long preparation for something that never happens.”W. B. Yeats

The Lake Isle of Innisfree, by W.B. Yeats
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 honeybee,
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 grey,

I hear it in the deep heart’s core. 

 “I thought little of the future. I did not know whether I would ever speak to her or not or, if I spoke to her, how could I tell her of my confused adoration. But my body was like a harp and her words and gestures were like fingers running upon the wires.” James Joyce

An Irish Airman Foresees His Death
William Butler Yeats

I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate,
Those that I guard I do not love;                                                                                           
My country is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan’s poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.                                                                                  
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;                     
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death

The Cat and the Moon
William Butler Yeats

The cat went here and there
And the moon spun round like a top,
And the nearest kin of the moon,
The creeping cat, looked up.
Black Minnaloushe stared at the moon,
For, wander and wail as he would,
The pure cold light in the sky
Troubled his animal blood.
Minnaloushe runs in the grass
Lifting his delicate feet.
Do you dance, Minnaloushe, do you dance?
When two close kindred meet,
What better than call a dance?
Maybe the moon may learn,
Tired of that courtly fashion,
A new dance turn.
Minnaloushe creeps through the grass
From moonlit place to place,
The sacred moon overhead
Has taken a new phase.
Does Minnaloushe know that his pupils
Will pass from change to change,
And that from round to crescent,
From crescent to round they range?
Minnaloushe creeps through the grass
Alone, important and wise,
And lifts to the changing moon
His changing eyes.

 The Countess Cathleen, Scene V, by William Butler Yeats
Bend down your faces, Oona and Aleel;
I gaze upon them as the swallow gazes
Upon the nest under the eave, before
She wander the loud waters. Do not weep
Too great a while, for there is many a candle
On the High Altar though one fall. Aleel,
Who sang about the dancers of the woods,
That know not the hard burden of the world,
Having but breath in their kind bodies, farewell
And farewell, Oona, you who played with me,
And bore me in your arms about the house
When I was but a child and therefore happy,
Therefore happy, even like those that dance.
The storm is in my hair and I must go.”

 William Butler Yeats: “To Dorothy Wellesley”
Stretch toward the moonless midnight of the trees
as though that hand could reach to where they stand,
and they but famous old upholsteries
delightful to the touch; tighten that hand
as though to draw them closer yet. Rammed full
of that most sensuous silence of the night
(for since the horizon’s bought strange dogs are still)
climb to your chamber full of books and wait,
no books upon the knee and no one there
but a great dance that cannot bay the moon
and now lies sunk in sleep. What climbs the stair?
Nothing that common women ponder on
if you are worth my hope! Neither Content
nor satisfied Conscience, but that great family
some ancient famous authors misrepresent,
the Proud Furies each with her torch on high.”

“Adam’s Curse,” William Butler Yeats,
 “We sat grown quiet at the name of love;
We saw the last embers of daylight die,
And in the trembling blue-green of the sky
A moon, worn as if it had been a shell
Washed by time’s waters as they rose and fell
About the stars and broke in days and years.
I had a thought for no one’s but your ears:
That you were beautiful, and that I strove
To love you in the old high way of love;
That it had all seemed happy, and yet we’d grown
As weary-hearted as that hollow moon.”

 W.B. Yeats ‘On Woman’ 1919
 “Though pedantry denies,
It’s plain the Bible means
That Solomon grew wise
While talking with his queens”

William Butler Yeats, from “The Mother of God”
 “What is this flesh I purchased with my pains,
This fallen star my milk sustains,
This love that makes my heart’s blood stop
Or strikes a sudden chill into my bones
And makes my hair stand up?”

Never give all the heart, for love— William Butler Yeats
Will hardly seem worth thinking of
To passionate women if it seem
Certain, and they never dream
That it fades out from kiss to kiss;
For everything that’s lovely is
But a brief, dreamy. Kind delight.
O never give the heart outright,
For they, for all smooth lips can say,
Have given their hearts up to the play.
And who could play it well enough
If deaf and dumb and blind with love?
He that made this knows all the cost,
For he gave all his heart and lost.

The Second Coming (excerpt) by William Butler Yeats
 “Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst

Are full of passionate intensity.”

The song of wandering Aengus: W.B. Yeats
 “I went out to the hazel wood,  
Because a fire was in my head,  
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,  
And hooked a berry to a thread;  
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,  
I dropped the berry in a stream  
And caught a little silver trout.  

When I had laid it on the floor  
I went to blow the fire a-flame,
But something rustled on the floor,  
And someone called me by my name:  
It had become a glimmering girl  
With apple blossom in her hair  
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.  
Though I am old with wandering  
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,  
I will find out where she has gone,  
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,  
And pluck till time and times are done,  
The silver apples of the moon,  
The golden apples of the sun.”

 “The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.”


 “I carry the sun in a golden cup.
The moon in a silver bag.”
                    W. B. Yeats

William Butler Yeats: “The Curse of Cromwell
“You ask what I have found and far and wide I go,
nothing but Cromwell’s house and Cromwell’s murderous crew,
the lovers and the dancers are beaten into the clay,
and the tall men and the swordsmen and the horsemen where are they?
And there is an old beggar wandering in his pride
his fathers served their fathers before Christ was crucified.
O what of that, O what of that
what is there left to say?
All neighborly content and easy talk are gone,
but there’s no good complaining, for money’s rant is on,
he that’s mounting up must on his neighbor mount
and we and all the Muses are things of no account.
They have schooling of their own but I pass their schooling by,
what can they know that we know that know the time to die?
O what of that, O what of that
what is there left to say?
But there’s another knowledge that my heart destroys
as the fox in the old fable destroyed the Spartan boy’s
because it proves that things both can and cannot be;
that the swordsmen and the ladies can still keep company;
can pay the poet for a verse and hear the fiddle sound,
that I am still their servant though all are underground.
O what of that, O what of that
what is there left to say?
I came upon a great house in the middle of the night
its open lighted doorway and its windows all alight,
and all my friends were there and made me welcome too;
but I woke in an old ruin that the winds howled through;
and when I pay attention I must out and walk
among the dogs and horses that understand my talk.
O what of that, O what of that

what is there left to say?”

 HOW can I, that girl standing there,
 My attention fix
 On Roman or on Russian
 Or on Spanish politics?
 Yet here's a travelled man that knows
 What he talks about,
 And there's a politician
 That has read and thought,
 And maybe what they say is true
 Of war and war's alarms,
 But O that I were young again
 And held her in my arms!

He Wishes For the Cloths Of Heaven-Yeats
HAD I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
 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.