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?
John Williams, whose novel Stoner has experienced quite a vogue over the last several years, once told me that this poem meant more to him as the years went on.
ReplyDeleteWilliams was a professor of English at the University of Denver. I never took his class, but one day he looked in at the Friday Stammtisch two or three of the younger philosophy professors held at the Stadium Inn, and I talked with him for half an hour or so. I wish I could remember more of what he had to say, but beyond the praise for Yeats I remember only that the thought poorly of Wyndham Lewis as writer and painter.
When it comes to Yeatsian swans, I prefer the one in "1919", but still there are stretches of lines here that stick in the memory.
Fascinating, that's good to know - clearly Williams was a man of sound taste too... Thanks George
ReplyDelete