Site hosted by Angelfire.com: Build your free website today!
 
  
The man who dreamed 
of faeryland
~ William Butler Yeats ~
 
  
 He stood among a crowd at Dromahair; 
His heart hung all upon a silken dress, 
And he had known at last some tenderness, 
Before earth took him to her stony care; 
But when a man poured fish into a pile, 
It Seemed they raised their little silver heads, 
And sang what gold morning or evening sheds 
Upon a woven world-forgotten isle 
Where people love beside the ravelled seas;
   
That time can never mar a lover's vows 
Under that woven changeless roof of boughs: 
The singing shook him out of his new ease. 
He wandered by the sands of Lissadell; 
His mind ran all on money cares and fears, 
And he had known at last some prudent years 
Before they heaped his grave under the hill; 
But while he passed before a plashy place, 
A lug-worm with its grey and muddy mouth 
Sang that somewhere to north or west or south 
There dwelt a gay, exulting, gentle race 
Under the golden or the silver skies;
  
  
That if a dancer stayed his hungry foot 
It seemed the sun and moon were in the fruit: 
And at that singing he was no more wise. 
He mused beside the well of Scanavin, 
He mused upon his mockers:  without fail 
His sudden vengeance were a country tale, 
When earthy night had drunk his body in; 
But one small knot-grass growing by the pool 
Sang where -- unnecessary cruel voice -- 
Old silence bids its chosen race rejoice, 
Whatever ravelled waters rise and fall 
Or stormy silver fret the gold of day, 
And midnight there enfold them like a fleece 
And lover there by lover be at peace. 
The tale drove his fine angry mood away.
   
He slept under the hill of Lugnagall; 
And might have known at last unhaunted sleep 
Under that cold and vapour-turbaned steep, 
Now that the earth had taken man and all: 
Did not the worms that spired about his bones, 
proclaim with that unwearied, 
Reedy cry That God has laid His fingers on the sky, 
That from those fingers glittering summer runs 
Upon the dancer by the dreamless wave. 
Why should those lovers that no lovers miss 
Dream, until God burn Nature with a kiss? 
The man has found no comfort in the grave.
   
   
   
   
Home

This page last updated on February 25th, 2005
 © Ladyspirit 2005, All rights reserved.
Except where noted, all images used in this document are believed to be in the public domain. With proof of ownership, any image will be removed.