Entries before sleep.
October 28th, 2009

Therapeutic Poetry

It’s awfully late and I’m still glued to W.B. Yeats Poems selected by Seamus Heaney the moment I prepared to turn in.  There’s one I really like. It has been a while since I last read something good.

In Memory Of Major Robert Gregory

I

Now that we’re almost settled in our house
I’ll name the friends that cannot sup with us
Beside a fire of turf in th’ ancient tower,
And having talked to some late hour
Climb up the narrow winding stair to bed:
Discoverers of forgotten truth
Or mere companions of my youth,
All, all are in my thoughts to-night being dead.

II

Always we’d have the new friend meet the old
And we are hurt if either friend seem cold,
And there is salt to lengthen out the smart
In the affections of our heart,
And quarrels are blown up upon that head;
But not a friend that I would bring
This night can set us quarrelling,
For all that come into my mind are dead.

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