This is for Jane’s A Month with Yeats, Day Twenty-Five.
Today’s quotation is from the “Song of Wandering Aengus.” Judy Collins sings a lovely version of this poem.
“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.”—W.B. Yeats
I met a man who told me tales
of wand’ring long on lonesome trails
through silvered groves of hazel wood
and seeing trout from where he stood
on the banks of a laughing stream
and how he fell into a dream.
He was old when he told me this,
of how he dreamt he had been kissed,
of how he’d never settled down
from fighting battles for the crown
of how he missed his darling’s lips
as he was gone upon his ships,
and how she chose another man
changing the life he thought he planned.
Now I am old, remember this,
the stranger’s tale of his lost kiss,
but when I dream, I dream of you
of wishes cast on waters blue
spindrift in the prismed light
flying high in the starlit night
I think of the man, his lesson taught–
thankful my wishes granted in love long sought