(Song from an Unfinished Play)
 
 
My mother dandled me and sang,  
‘How young it is, how young!’  
And made a golden cradle  
That on a willow swung.  
 
‘He went away,’ my mother sang,
‘When I was brought to bed,’  
And all the while her needle pulled  
The gold and silver thread.  
 
She pulled the thread and bit the thread  
And made a golden gown,
And wept because she had dreamt that I  
Was born to wear a crown.  
 
‘When she was got,’ my mother sang,  
‘I heard a sea—mew cry,  
And saw a flake of the yellow foam
That dropped upon my thigh.’  
 
How therefore could she help but braid  
The gold into my hair,  
And dream that I should carry  
The golden top of care?

  • 0
  • 0
  •  
  •  
Login to comment...
Email

Other works by W. B. Yeats...

Some poets who follow W. B. Yeats...

Chactas Aldair Acevedo Alice Chellis D. Thurmond   aka  JEF (James Everett Falcon) Mike gredence Santiago Salamanca Bello