A Month with Yeats: Day Twenty-Six

Today’s quote is from ‘The White Birds’.

‘I would that we were, my beloved, white birds on the foam of the sea!’ W.B. Yeats

 

This deep earth calls

 

The winter earth is cold, clay clings colder,

Each day the sun fails more, the year is older,

This earth of ours seeps into our blood,

Its heavy tribute of too many lives

That never flourished from the first green bud.

Deep down, it holds us, with the broken rocks

And twisted roots of trees long dead and fallen,

The twisted bones of unknown dead and fallen,

It holds us twisted in its clay-cold locks.

What good to wish for wings, gull white and grey

The air is empty; this clay is where weโ€™ll stay.

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

37 thoughts on “A Month with Yeats: Day Twenty-Six”

  1. I love โ€˜The White Birdsโ€™ …. I also love your verse which forces me downward to the clay with your words – that is praise, by the way, high praise ๐Ÿ™‚

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