And I will 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.
from The Lake Isle of Innisfree by William Butler Yeats
On certain evenings,
when the galaxy’s dust falls into blue by degrees,
I think of Innisfree . . .
Here, the avenue is diseased,
commerce tainted with harlotry.
Apocalyptic rhythms race for capital gains
under the bellicose grin of the gun.
Commuters die on the subway twice a day.
Greenwich meridian is no longer in its prime:
time itself is paralyzed
and gives no refuge to the dove
or the shadow of its wing.
Having reached my quota,
I cancel all appointments for the afternoon.
Stars fall into the purple noon by degrees.
There’s a glimmer of hope in the isle,
a conspicuous absence of everything
which speaks of quantity.
Gravity acquiesces to the linnet’s wings.
Let us arise, therefore, and go to Innisfree;
let us not speak when the cricket sings
of peace which comes dropping slow
forever in the bee-loud glade.
Dust is settling from the Milky Way,
and by degrees the meridian
is slowly healed at Innisfree.
William Hammett, Louisiana, USA