Tuesday, January 17, 2012

to the waters and the wild

This has been one of my favorites for a long time, and I don't know why I haven't posted it yet.
 
The Stolen Child
W.B. Yeats
 
Where dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water rats;
There we've hid our faery vats,
Full of berrys
And of reddest stolen cherries.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. 
 
Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim gray sands with light,
Far off by furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And anxious in its sleep.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
 
Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,
In pools among the rushes
That scare could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
 
Away with us he's going,
The solemn-eyed:
He'll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal chest.
For he comes, the human child,
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than he can understand.

2 comments:

  1. Yes, that one gave me the shivers when I was young! It's a very coldly beautiful poem, isn't it?

    And those fish having nightmares-- what could trouble a fish's dreams?

    But it's not only fairies who steal children; sooner or later they steal themselves away.

    Eavan Boland, "On Vacation"

    Ballyvaughan.
    Peat and salt.
    How the wind bawls
    across the mountains,
    scalds the orchards
    of the Burren.

    They used to leave milk
    out once on these windowsills
    to ward away
    the child-stealing spirits.

    The sheets are damp.
    We sleep between the blankets.
    The light cotton of the curtains
    lets the light in.

    You wake first thing
    in your five-year-old-size
    striped nightie you are
    everywhere trying everything:
    the springs on the bed,
    the hinges on the window.

    You know your a's and b's
    but there's a limit now
    to what you'll believe.

    When dark comes I leave
    a superstitious feast
    of wheat biscuits, apples,
    orange juice out for you
    and wake to find it eaten.

    (Verification word: mosesstr. Moses, s, t, r?
    "Moses supposes his toeses are roses,
    but Moses supposes erroneously."
    )

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  2. I'd like to steal myself away, sometimes. :)

    Folklore fairies are a bit scary, as opposed to, say, fairies in Disney or watered-down versions of the stories.

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