Uploaded on January 4, 2012
Because we love bare hills and stunted tree
And were the last to choose the settled ground,
Its boredom of the desk or of the spade, because
So many years companioned by a hound,
Our voices carry; and though slumber bound,
Some few half wake and half renew their choice,
Give tongue, proclaim their hidden name — ‘hound voice.’
The women that I picked spoke sweet and low
And yet gave tongue. ‘Hound voices’ were they all.
We picked each other from afar and knew
What hour of terror comes to test the soul,
And in that terror’s name obeyed the call,
And understood, what none have understood,
Those images that waken in the blood.
Some day we shall get up before the dawn
And find our ancient hounds before the door,
And wide awake know that the hunt is on;
Stumbling upon the blood-dark track once more,
That stumbling to the kill beside the shore;
Then cleaning out and bandaging wounds,
And chants of victory amid the encircling hounds.
—William Butler Yeats
The Collected Poems of W.B. Yeats
01.04.2024: I’ve long loved “The Lake-Isle of Innisfree,” but I’ve yet to find another poem by Yeats that does much for me.