Monday, July 20, 2015

By what lake's edge or pool. . .

Here they are; this is the Set of Five young mallards yesterday, with their mother at left. 
They are now almost as large as she is. These fluffballs grow up fast!
There is a  wonderful freedom about a wild bird, 
even one that comes to eat your cracked corn!

The Wild Swans at Coole

The trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water
Mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water among the stones
Are nine-and-fifty Swans.
The nineteenth autumn has come upon me
Since I first made my count;
I saw, before I had well finished,
All suddenly mount
And scatter wheeling in great broken rings
Upon their clamorous wings.
I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,
And now my heart is sore.
All's changed since I, hearing at twilight,
The first time on this shore,
The bell-beat of their wings above my head,
Trod with a lighter tread.
Unwearied still, lover by lover,
They paddle in the cold
Companionable streams or climb the air;
Their hearts have not grown old;
Passion or conquest, wander where they will,
Attend upon them still.
But now they drift on the still water,
Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake's edge or pool
Delight men's eyes when I awake some day
To find they have flown away?

William Butler Yeats

I suppose I should have waited until autumn to use this poem by Yeats;
but I remembered tonight how much I like it.
Yeats was quite a fellow! He left us some of our finest poems.

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