This is the last day of this tremendous poetry marathon that I have so much enjoyed. I’m already looking back on it with nostalgia. To finish, I couldn’t resist another line from ‘The Lake Isle of Innisfree’.
“And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,” —W.B. Yeats
After the winter, peace
Veils of morning and evening fall about this place,
This pile of stones and plaster we call home for a space,
Where willows bow and poplars dance with wild green grace.
There will be peace in the hollows where rests the hare,
Hidden in slanting grass stalks from the midday glare,
And shade to fill the valley where the shy deer dare.
But first comes winter, fleet and wolf-jawed, to crack stones,
And iron is the earth where lie silent bones on bones,
And bare boles, moss moist and cold, are our only thrones.