The trees are in their autumn beauty,

The woodland paths are dry,

Under the October twilight the water

Mirrors a still sky;

Upon the brimming water among the stones

Are nine and fifty swans.

 

The nineteenth Autumn has come upon me

Since I first made my count;

I saw, before I had well finished,

All suddenly mount

And scatter wheeling in great broken rings

Upon their clamorous wings.

 

I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,

And how my heart is sore.

All’s changed since I, hearing at twilight,

The first time on this shore,

The bell-beat of their wings above my head,

Trod with a lighter tread.

 

Unwearied still, lover by lover,

They paddle in the cold,

Companionable streams or climb the air;

Their hearts have not grown old;

Passion or conquest, wander where they will,

Attend upon them still

 

But now they drift on the still water

Mysterious, beautiful;

Among what rushes will they build,

By what lake’s edge or pools

Delight men’s eyes, when I awake some day

To find they have flown away?

 

Can’t recall that I have read this poem before. The reminiscent tone with a tinge of melancholy, it’s a good poem for this quiet, cold night, and for this stage of me.

All the words that I utter,

  And all the words that I write,

Must spread out their wings untiring,

  And never rest in their flight,

Till they come where your sad, sad heart is,

  And sing to you in the night,

Beyond where the waters are moving,

  Storm-darken’d or starry bright.

 

I love poems and the deep emotions, be they love or hatred, by they impersonal or personal,imbibed in poems.
They are the starry bright evenings in our memories, forever sparkling, forever there.

 

When Your are Old

When you are old and gray and full of sleep

And nodding by the file, take down this book,

And slowly read, and dream of the soft look

Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

 

How many loved your moments of glad grace,

   And loved your beauty with love false or true;

   But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,

And loved the sorrows of your changing face.

 

And bending down beside the glowing bars,

Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled

And paced upon the mountains overhead,

And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

 

 I have read ‘’ When You are Old’’ so many times but it feels different every time.

This time especially so. There is a strange sensation stirring in my mind, something that makes me feel this poem is relevant to me, and to my  heart.

I went out to the hazel wood,

Because a fire was in my head,

And cut and peeled a hazel wand,

And hooked a berry to a thread;

And when white moths were on the wing,

And moth-like stars were flickering out,

I dropped the berry in a stream

And caught a little silver trout.

 

When I had laid it on the floor

I went to blow the file a-flame,

But something rustled on the floor,

And some called me by my name:

 It had become a glimmering girl

With apple blossom in her hair

Who called me by my name and ran

And faded through the brightening air

 

Though I am old with wandering

Through hollow lands and hilly lands,

I will find out where she has gone,

And kiss her lips and take her hands;

And walk among long dappled grass,

And pluck till time and times are done,

The silver apples of the moon,

The golden apples of the sun.

 

Notes: Aengus, in Irish mythology, is a god of love, youth, and poetic inspiration. He was said to have four birds symbolizing kisses flying about his head.

Shadow on a tree