In an Irish spring Yeats is lain
By Ben Bulben, the poet and seer,
Scholar-mystic engraved his final plays,
Cleanly rushing to his and others
And Ancestral tombs,
Where the early lines were said
The painter left the earth
And stayed the woman's womb.
When the rear of the book,
The subject going back and forth
Has the English and only sword
Bleed arms of their torn,
Hallowed inter-ed those star-lookers took.
In the tallest room, the tallest tower
Of the castle near the lake
We rowed eating marmalade sandwiches (seasoned with hyacinthe flower)
And a Brown fishing-line (Raphael takes
The light-smoke emitting stone.
Pin and pepper in the bell,
For the heaven's sake
And the peasant's corn bougher.)
When the most important one
Had come and gone from hell
Left his song, perhaps by the lute's tone
Or horn's or oboe's spell,
Upwards he went, well before the spear's shower
And left the rest to follow his wake.
A row of floury strings were
In the dinner, a piece of Sligo cake.
Carrin berenbourg in
The recorded back from ancient times, on
Paper, for later proof
And their rights, the hammer
And the death-master of Prinzregenplatz;
Falling sound of clarin-
O, two violins are playing in a dance-song
And plucked bass strings of the guitar remain aloof.
Vienna, as close to Manhattan
Paralleled by water, and squeezed by prongs.
But history is a part of every
Sinister or non-sinister plan;
All of the out cries, the dead and new
That comes, plain
Or odd the every winter
In the trent, under the pit's roof,
Carrier, canter.
The dragon, in his den, thin
From lonely nights, his damsel's prince's son
Came to the cave, and took his mother from him.
Covered skull, sword, nasal poof
From lacking fuel to fire the trigger,
Then after battle's action, he gathered, replanted
The hyacinthe; waited while lavender grew.
As the object from the diamond miner's sewn
Coat, issued as a replace-
Ment by his employer, hewn
By other worker's plaint.
Done by the rite of the bridal kings
The sacrifice of hours in the night, angelic wings
Of their hope go upward, as a spirit reigns
Over the vast hills, to the sea
And into fish, and the large habits of filial pain,
When marred and fractured
Heathens be among the last that
Remain in their mountain dwellings, hidden from light.
The dragon only drinks from the clear lake, an animal
That is sane
And knows what
It should, without it's knowing right --
The regatta sails holding wood carved by underlings,
Part of the ship, above the singing slaves.
July 18, '09
