Every once in awhile a line from a poem will drop by and stay long enough to make me want to recall more lines, remember why I was drawn to it in the first place. I had noticed recently, as I drove up the lane leading to my place on Upper Whitefish, that the trees and shrubbery left dappled sunlight along the trail. I was smitten by the play of light and so stopped to take a photograph or two.
When I went on my search yesterday, I turned up W.B. Yeats poem from which I'd borrowed the line. I realized my initial fear of larceny was unfounded and I was not on the lam from the poetry police. It wasn't so dastardly a deed. I then placed it in my mental box marked, "In homage to someone's superior talent," and forgave my fifteen year old self, the one that still lives inside of me.
As I read, I found myself pulled in more and more to his poetry and remembered many lines that I had liked at various times in my life. Some of his lines have entered into mainstream usage in one way or another. It was good to be reminded of their origin. I decided to put some of my favorite lines together this morning and see what showed up. Sort of like magnetic poetry on the fridge. It was fun. And that's the point. I love playing with words. Here it is, stolen line by stolen line. I don't think William would mind.
Horseman, pass by!
This is no country for old men.
Their ancient faces like rain-beaten stones.
Dwelt among wine-stained wanderers in deep woods.
And I shall have some peace there.
Walk among long dappled grass.
The pilgrim soul in you.
Slouches towards Bethlehem.
Tread softly because you tread upon my dreams.
Too long a sacrifice can make a stone of the heart.
Peace comes dropping slow.
Amid a crowd of stars.