Yeats and the Cloths of Heaven

I mentioned some of my poetical influences in a previous post, but the list was by no means exhaustive.  One of my old and dear favorites is William Butler Yeats (pron. 'Yates'), whose poetry is filled with celtic lyricism and a keen sense of longing. I spent a few hours rereading my love-scuffed "Collected Poems" last night and thought I would share two of his poems.

He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven HAD I the heavens’ embroidered cloths, Enwrought with golden and silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half light, I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams. W.B. Yeats The Cap and Bells THE JESTER walked in the garden: The garden had fallen still; He bade his soul rise upward And stand on her window-sill. It rose in a straight blue garment, When owls began to call: It had grown wise-tongued by thinking Of a quiet and light footfall; But the young queen would not listen; She rose in her pale night gown; She drew in the heavy casement And pushed the latches down. He bade his heart go to her, When the owls called out no more; In a red and quivering garment It sang to her through the door. It had grown sweet-tongued by dreaming, Of a flutter of flower-like hair; But she took up her fan from the table And waved it off on the air. ‘I have cap and bells’ he pondered, ‘I will send them to her and die;’ And when the morning whitened He left them where she went by. She laid them upon her bosom, Under a cloud of her hair, And her red lips sang them a love song: Till stars grew out of the air. She opened her door and her window, And the heart and the soul came through, To her right hand came the red one, To her left hand came the blue. They set up a noise like crickets, A chattering wise and sweet, And her hair was a folded flower And the quiet of love in her feet. W.B. Yeats