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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.

 

William Butler Yeats

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A vision of twilight: Archibald Lampman

 

By a void and soundless river

On the outer edge of space

Where the body comes not ever

But the absent dream has place

Stands a city tall and quiet

And it's air is sweet and dim

Never sound of grief or riot

Makes it mad or makes it grim

 

And the tender skies there over

Neither sun nor star behold

Only dusk it have for cover

But a glamour soft with gold

Through a mist of dreamier essence

Than the dew of twilight smiles

On strange shafts and domes and crescents

Lifting into eerie piles

 

In it's courts and hallowed places

Dreams of distant worlds arise

Shadows of disfigured faces

Glimpses of immortal eyes

Echoes of serenest pleasure

Notes of perfect speech that fall

Through an air of endless leisure

Marvelously musical 

 

And I wander there at even

Sometimes when my heart is clear

When a wider round of Heaven

And a vaster world are near

When from many a shadow steeple

Sounds of dreamy bell begin

And I love the gentle people

That my spirit finds therein

 

Men of diviner making

Than the sons of pride and strife

Quick with love and pity breaking

From a knowledge as old as life

 

Woman of a spiritual rareness

Whom old passion and old woe

Molded to a slender fairness

Than the deepest shapes we know

 

In it's doomed and towered center

Lies a garden wide and fair

Open for thy soul to enter

And the watchful townsmen there

Greet the stranger gloomed and fretting

From this world of stormy hands

With a look that deals forgetting

And a touch that understands

 

For they with power not borrowed

From a record taught and told

But they loved and laughed and sorrowed

In a thousand years of old

Now they rest and dream forever

And with hearts serene and whole

See the struggle, the old fever

Clear as on a painted scroll

 

Wandering by the grey and solemn

Shadowed by unearthly trees

Bridges of sweet power compel me

And I go with bated breath

Listening to the tales they tell me

Parables of life and death

 

In a tongue that once was spoken

Ere the world was cooled by time

When the spirit flowed unbroken

Through the flesh and the sublime

Made the eyes of men for seeing

And their souls as pure as rain

They declare the ends of being

And the sacred need for pain

 

For they know the sweetest reasons

For the products most malign-

They can tell the paths and seasons

of the farthest suns that shine

How the moths wings iridescence

By an inward plan was wrought

And they read me curious lessons

In the secret ways of thought

 

When day turns and over Heaven

To the balmy western verge

Sail the victor fleets of even

And the pilot stars emerge

Then my city rounds and rises

Like a vapor formed afar

And it's sudden girth surprises

And it's shadow gates unbar

 

Dreaming crowds are moving yonder

In a faint and phantom blue

Through the dusk I lean and wonder

If their winsome shapes are true

But in veiling indecision

Come my questions back again

Which is real? The fleeting vision

Or the fleeting world of men?

Edited by littlejoe3
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