Since I was a boy I have always longed to hear poems spoken to a harp, as I imagined Homer to have spoken his, for it is not natural to enjoy an art only when one is by oneself. Whenever one finds a fine verse one wants to read it to somebody, and it would be much less trouble and much pleasanter if we could all listen, friend by friend, lover by beloved. Images used to rise up before me, as I am sure they have arisen before nearly everybody else who cares for poetry, of wild-eyed men speaking harmoniously to murmuring wires

Set to words by W.B. Yeats

A Portfolio of Faces

“Since I was a boy I have always longed to hear poems spoken to a harp

“Since I was a boy I have always longed to hear poems spoken to a harp

as I imagined Homer to have spoken his, for it is not natural to enjoy an art only when one is by oneself.

Whenever one finds a fine verse

Whenever one finds a fine verse

one wants to share it with somebody,

one wants to share it with somebody,

and it would be much less trouble and much pleasanter if we could all listen,

and it would be much less trouble and much pleasanter if we could all listen,

friend by friend,

love by beloved.

Images used to rise up before me,

as I am sure they have arisen before

nearly everybody else who cares for poetry,

of wild-eyed men speaking harmoniously

of wild-eyed men speaking harmoniously

to murmuring wires

to murmuring wires

while audiences

while audiences

in many-coloured robes

listened,

hushed

and excited.”

- W.B Yeats, the Poet.

- W.B Yeats, the Poet.

THE LAKE ISLE OF INNISFREEa poem,

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee,And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee,And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;

There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,And evening full of the linnet’s wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and dayI hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;

While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray,I hear it in the deep heart’s core.

-w.b. yeats.