‘We who still labour by the cromlech on the shore,

The grey cairn on the hill, when day sinks drowned in dew,

Being weary of the world’s empires, bow down to you,

Master of the still stars and of the flaming door.’—W.B. Yeats

Wikimedia commons

starry Autumn night

sparks ascend the darkened sky

from countless fires

We bloodied sit in the dark

to see untarnished starlight

for Jane Dougherty’s A Month with Yeats: Day 19