‘…your hair was bound and wound About the stars and moon and sun:’—W.B. Yeats   morning clouds everywhere I see your face since you slipped away your presence a reflection on this rippling water   for Jane Dougherty’s A Month with Yeats: Day Twenty-Three

‘I wander by the edge Of this desolate lake Where wind cries in the sedge:’ —W.B. Yeats Peter Smyly [CC BY-SA 2.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons   windswept lake daylight the only witness to our moans and sighs her passion-spent hand caresses my battle-scarred, tear-stained cheek   for Jane Dougherty’s A Month with Yeats: Day…

  ‘…by water among the trees The delicate-stepping stag and his lady sigh’ —W.B. Yeats   November morning A grown stag, his doe, their fawns graze near the water my gratitude for the challenge of raising my family     for Jane Dougherty’s A Month with Yeats: Day Twenty-one, Colleen’s Weekly #Poetry challenge–Thanks and Family and…

A faerie Queen, Wikimedia Commons out of the dark air over her head there came A murmur of soft words and meeting lips.’—W.B. Yeats falling rain soft whispers and kisses in the dark signs of a peace I haven’t earned For Jane Dougherty’s A Month with Yeats: Day Twenty

‘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…

  The Origin of Will O’ The Wisp, 1891, Wikimedia Commons ‘The dews drop slowly and dreams gather;’ —W.B. Yeats Evening dew crystalline in winter cold under a pale moon Will she be here at first light, or does the dream die at dawn?     for Jane Dougherty’s A Month with Yeats: Day 18

  ‘The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half-light,’ —W.B. Yeats pre-dawn sky her pale cold hand caressing my bloody cheek all the tears I cannot cry at my enemy’s mercy for Jane Dougherty’s a Month with Yeats: Day 17