THE STOLEN CHILD

NOTE: First published December 1886 in the Irish Monthly.

 

THE STOLEN CHILD

by

William Butler Yeats

(1865 – 1939)

 

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 grey 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 drop their tears

Over the young streams.

Come away, O human child!

To to waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand,

For to 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,

For the world’s more full of weeping than he can understand.

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How the Welsh developed their own form of poetry

NOTE: Thank you to The Conversation website for the article!

 

 

How the Welsh developed their own form of poetry

We Carry the Great Lake Inside — Philip Carr-Gomm

This is a wonderful meditation on the power and importance of water – stunning filming and beautiful words. The River – A Deep Ecology Visual Poem from Last Leaves on Vimeo. The original post is titled We Carry the Great Lake Inside , and it came from Philip Carr-Gomm .

via We Carry the Great Lake Inside — Philip Carr-Gomm

Invictus

NOTE: I read this and thought I’d share it here.

William Ernest Henley

Out of the night that covers me,

Black as the pit From pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate:

I am the captain of my soul.

Poem: Morrighan’s Lament

NOTE: A poem I wrote sometime ago. Thought I’d share.

Morrighan’s Lament
by
Shane A. Saylor
8/7/01

I am Morrighan,
My cloak is made of
feathers from the Raven
and Crow.  It was
soaked in the blood of
the Ulster hero CuChulainn.
Upon his death I wailed
as I lost my soul mate.
In my grief filled rage
I unleashed the Banshees
upon the houses of true
Irish Blood.  They foretell
the impending death of a
family member and escort
the soul to the Raven
that will guide it to the
great beyond.  Other times
the Banshee helps the
soul’s body to its moment
of death.  The song they
wail is a dirge of death
written by me honouring
CuChulainn.  It is a sad,
haunting song.  Much like
the look in his eyes
as the light faded
from them as his
soul left his body.