William Butler Yeats, 'The Hosting of the Sidhe'

[duathir.livejournal.com]

The Hosting Of The Sidhe

The host is riding from Knocknarea
And over the grave of Clooth-na-bare;
Caolte tossing his burning hair
And Niamh calling Away, come away:
Empty your heart of its mortal dream.
The winds awaken, the leaves whirl round,
Our cheeks are pale, our hair is unbound,
Our breasts are heaving, our eyes are a-gleam,
Our arms are waving, our lips are apart;
And if any gaze on our rushing band,
We come between him and the deed of his hand,
We come between him and the hope of his heart.
The host is rushing 'twixt night and day,
And where is there hope or deed as fair?
Caolte tossing his burning hair,
And Niamh calling Away, come away.

By William Butler Yeats

Comments

thanks

[pigshitpoet.livejournal.com]

the poem provokes romantic images in me..
almost like dream quality or transitioning to the other side
and possibly this is fitting for the theme of halloween
yeats was an amazing symbolist

RE: thanks

[duathir.livejournal.com]

He was indeed; I am glad you like it. Happy Halloween.

RE: thanks

[pigshitpoet.livejournal.com]

you as well

[davesmusictank.livejournal.com]

I love Yeats.

[duathir.livejournal.com]

I too. Happy Halloween to you.

[davesmusictank.livejournal.com]

Thanks,

[chocolate-frapp.livejournal.com]

hi, you don't know me but I like Yeats a lot.

[duathir.livejournal.com]

Welcome; you have come to the right place.