The Lake Isle of Innisfree
I WILL arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud
glade.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping
slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket
sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's
wings.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.
William Butler Yeats,
Uit de roman: Wallace Stegner, Crossing to Safety:
“Oh, pooh,
Sid! That’s a splendid poem, but it’s not a plan for a life. It’s
defeatist, it’s total retreat. Poetry ought to be a by-product of living, and
you can’t have a by-product unless you’ve had a product first.
It’s immoral not to get in and work and get your hands dirty.” “You
can get your hands dirty in nine beanrows.”
