Wednesday, October 14, 2009

The Poetry of Autumn


"Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower." - Albert Camus

They're calling for snow flurries tonight. Yes, already. So before all the wonderful color and majesty of fall disappears, I thought I'd share this Yeats poem, which created vivid imagery in my head as I read it.

The Wild Swans at Coole
by W.B. Yeats

The trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodlands 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?


3 comments:

Emma Lai said...

Beautiful! Thanks for sharing!

Cate Masters said...

Thanks for stopping by, Emma!

Maggie Dove said...

Cate, thanks for the beautiful poem and pictures. Candy for the eye!