Bridge over the River Fergus

grey stones strung with red, 
the River Fergus ripples 
with silent ghosts 

Copyright 2022 Brenda Davis Harsham

Notes: I didn’t make it to Innisfree, where Yeats wrote his famous poem, but I visited Ennis in the heart of County Clare, where the River Fergus is made glad with flowers. The world of Yeats is alive everywhere. Twilight lasts until midnight, the bees out-sing the traffic, and birds strut and shake their wings in the hedges. The sounds echo in my deep heart’s core where round islands are wild and untamed, and children play on the gravetops.

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 day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.

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