W.B. Yeats:THE SONG OF THE OLD MOTHER. The Wind Among the Reeds.THE COLD HEAVEN

Uploaded on Jan 11, 2009

This fascinating poem by Yeats is a marvel of rhythmic complexity and theosophical contemplation. Hear, read and wonder!

W.B. Yeats:

THE SONG OF THE OLD MOTHER

I RISE in the dawn, and I kneel and blow
Till the seed of the fire flicker and glow;
And then I must scrub and bake and sweep
Till stars are beginning to blink and peep;
And the young lie long and dream in their bed
Of the matching of ribbons for bosom and head,
And their day goes over in idleness,
And they sigh if the wind but lift a tress:
While I must work because I am old,
And the seed of the fire gets feeble and cold.

THE COLD HEAVEN

Suddenly I saw the cold and rook-delighting heaven

That seemed as though ice burned and was but the more ice,

And thereupon imagination and heart were driven

So wild that every casual thought of that and this

Vanished, and left but memories, that should be out of season

With the hot blood of youth, of love crossed long ago;

And I took all thc blame out of all sense and reason,

Until I cried and trembled and rocked to and fro,

Riddled with light. Ah! when the ghost begins to quicken,

Confusion of the death-bed over, is it sent

Out naked on the roads, as the books say, and stricken

By the injustice of the skies for punishment?

*****W.B. Yeats (1865–1939).  The Wind Among the Reeds.  1899. 

18. A Poet to his Beloved 

I BRING you with reverent hands
The books of my numberless dreams;
White woman that passion has worn
As the tide wears the dove-gray sands,
And with heart more old than the horn	5
That is brimmed from the pale fire of time:
White woman with numberless dreams
I bring you my passionate rhyme.