The Wild Swans at Coole E-Book

W.b.yeats

• Herausgeber: Interactive Media
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

"The Wild Swans at Coole" by W.B. Yeats is a poignant collection of poems reflecting the poet's contemplation of life, love, and the passage of time. Set against the serene backdrop of Coole Park, Yeats weaves verses that capture the fleeting beauty of swans, mirroring the transience of human emotions. Themes of nature's cyclical patterns, unrequited love, and the tension between reality and idealism resonate through the verses, creating a timeless exploration of the human spirit in its quest for meaning and connection.

Leseprobe

W. B. Yeats

The Wild Swans

at Coole

New Edition

LONDON ∙ NEW YORK ∙ TORONTO ∙ SAO PAULO ∙ MOSCOW

PARIS ∙ MADRID ∙ BERLIN ∙ ROME ∙ MEXICO CITY ∙ MUMBAI ∙ SEOUL ∙ DOHA

TOKYO ∙ SYDNEY ∙ CAPE TOWN ∙ AUCKLAND ∙ BEIJING

New Edition

Published by Sovereign Classic

This Edition

First published in 2019

Copyright © 2019 Sovereign Classic

All Rights Reserved.

ISBN: 9781787360075

Contents

THE WILD SWANS AT COOLE

IN MEMORY OF MAJOR ROBERT GREGORY

AN IRISH AIRMAN FORESEES HIS DEATH

MEN IMPROVE WITH THE YEARS

THE COLLAR-BONE OF A HARE

UNDER THE ROUND TOWER

SOLOMON TO SHEBA

THE LIVING BEAUTY

A SONG

TO A YOUNG BEAUTY

TO A YOUNG GIRL

THE SCHOLARS

TOM O’ROUGHLEY

THE SAD SHEPHERD

LINES WRITTEN IN DEJECTION

THE DAWN

ON WOMAN

THE FISHERMAN

THE HAWK

MEMORY

HER PRAISE

THE PEOPLE

HIS PHOENIX

A THOUGHT FROM PROPERTIUS

BROKEN DREAMS

A DEEP-SWORN VOW

PRESENCES

THE BALLOON OF THE MIND

TO A SQUIRREL AT KYLE-NA-GNO

ON BEING ASKED FOR A WAR POEM

IN MEMORY OF ALFRED POLLEXFEN

UPON A DYING LADY

CERTAIN ARTISTS BRING HER DOLLS AND DRAWINGS

SHE TURNS THE DOLLS’ FACES TO THE WALL

THE END OF DAY

HER RACE

HER COURAGE

HER FRIENDS BRING HER A CHRISTMAS TREE

EGO DOMINUS TUUS

A PRAYER ON GOING INTO MY HOUSE

THE CAT AND THE MOON

THE SAINT AND THE HUNCHBACK

TWO SONGS OF A FOOL

ANOTHER SONG OF A FOOL

THE DOUBLE VISION OF MICHAEL ROBARTES

NOTE

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?

IN MEMORY OF MAJOR ROBERT GREGORY

1

Now that we’re almost settled in our house

I’ll name the friends that cannot sup with us

Beside a fire of turf in the ancient tower,

And having talked to some late hour

Climb up the narrow winding stair to bed:

Discoverers of forgotten truth

Or mere companions of my youth,

All, all are in my thoughts to-night, being dead.

2

Always we’d have the new friend meet the old,

And we are hurt if either friend seem cold,

And there is salt to lengthen out the smart

In the affections of our heart,

And quarrels are blown up upon that head;

But not a friend that I would bring

This night can set us quarrelling,

For all that come into my mind are dead.

3

Lionel Johnson comes the first to mind,

That loved his learning better than mankind,

Though courteous to the worst; much falling he

Brooded upon sanctity

Till all his Greek and Latin learning seemed

A long blast upon the horn that brought

A little nearer to his thought

A measureless consummation that he dreamed.

4

And that enquiring man John Synge comes next,

That dying chose the living world for text

And never could have rested in the tomb

But that, long travelling, he had come

Towards nightfall upon certain set apart

In a most desolate stony place,

Towards nightfall upon a race

Passionate and simple like his heart.

5

And then I think of old George Pollexfen,

In muscular youth well known to Mayo men

For horsemanship at meets or at race-courses,

That could have shown how purebred horses

And solid men, for all their passion, live

But as the outrageous stars incline

By opposition, square and trine;

Having grown sluggish and contemplative.

6

They were my close companions many a year,

A portion of my mind and life, as it were,

And now their breathless faces seem to look

Out of some old picture-book;

I am accustomed to their lack of breath,

But not that my dear friend’s dear son,

Our Sidney and our perfect man,

Could share in that discourtesy of death.

7

For all things the delighted eye now sees

Were loved by him; the old storm-broken trees

That cast their shadows upon road and bridge;

The tower set on the stream’s edge;

The ford where drinking cattle make a stir

Nightly, and startled by that sound

The water-hen must change her ground;

He might have been your heartiest welcomer.

8