I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned my devotion to Yeats. It’s because of poems like The Lake Isle of Innisfree, an early poem, written in the 1890s. It rhymes and has a regular meter and is the sort of thing you might murmur to yourself when you wake up and want nothing more than to spend the day drinking tea and thinking about what’s in “the deep heart’s core.” Here it is, number 4 of 100 favorite poems (not in any particular order):
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 mourning 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 grey,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.