Wednesday, December 28, 2011





TO SOME I HAVE TALKED TO BY THE FIRE
by: William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)
      HILE I wrought out these fitful Danaan rhymes,
      My heart would brim with dreams about the times
      When we bent down above the fading coals
      And talked of the dark folk who live in souls
      Of passionate men, like bats in the dead trees;
      And of the wayward twilight companies
      Who sigh with mingled sorrow and content,
      Because their blossoming dreams have never bent
      Under the fruit of evil and of good:
      And of the embattled flaming multitude
      Who rise, wing above wing, flame above flame,
      And, like a storm, cry the Ineffable Name,
      And with the clashing of their sword-blades make
      A rapturous music, till the morning break
      And the white hush end all but the loud beat
      Of their long wings, the flash of their white feet.
"To Some I Have Talked With by the Fire" is reprinted from The Rose. W.B. Yeats. 1893.

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