30 Poems: Number 3
Apr. 30th, 2010 08:20 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
winterbadgerOK, so I said that yesterday's poem reminded me of another, and I can't even hold onto it for a day.
William Butler Yeats
Aedh wishes for the Cloths of Heaven
Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
It was used in the final episode of the third season of Ballykissangel, in a beautiful scene where the central characters are meeting on a hillside, holding a wake really, to remember a friend who has died. Each of them has something to say, a poem or a few words. And the schoolteacher, Brendan, recites this poem.
Again, Yeats' imagery is striking and evocative. His rhythm and metre are subtle, the alternate line endings are almost unnoticeable but employ subtle repetition. And I love the way that the speaker's poverty is used as an excuse for sharing something far more precious than anything money could ever buy.
It's a wonderful love poem; it's a beautiful epitaph. It's just lovely. Dammit, it makes me cry whenever I read it.
William Butler Yeats
Aedh wishes for the Cloths of Heaven
Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
It was used in the final episode of the third season of Ballykissangel, in a beautiful scene where the central characters are meeting on a hillside, holding a wake really, to remember a friend who has died. Each of them has something to say, a poem or a few words. And the schoolteacher, Brendan, recites this poem.
Again, Yeats' imagery is striking and evocative. His rhythm and metre are subtle, the alternate line endings are almost unnoticeable but employ subtle repetition. And I love the way that the speaker's poverty is used as an excuse for sharing something far more precious than anything money could ever buy.
It's a wonderful love poem; it's a beautiful epitaph. It's just lovely. Dammit, it makes me cry whenever I read it.
