Every once in a while the stars align in such a way that luck is propelled upon an individual. Here I sit in Ireland surrounded by ancient wonders and sublime majestic beauty. Unfortunately I am not here to ride but by the looks of the place it is a two wheel delight. Over the last week, I have seen a ton of motorcyclist braving the cold on the city streets of Dublin. The allure of the place is staggering and I cannot begin describe it. William Butler Yeates was born in Ireland and now rests here in the shadow of a wondrous cliff. Here is a poem from one of one of Ireland’s greatest authors.
The Wild Swans at Coole by William Butler Yeates
The trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water
Mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water among the stones
Are nine-and-fifty Swans.
The nineteenth autumn has come upon me
Since I first made my count;
I saw, before I had well finished,
All suddenly mount
And scatter wheeling in great broken rings
Upon their clamorous wings.
I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,
And now my heart is sore.
All's changed since I, hearing at twilight,
The first time on this shore,
The bell-beat of their wings above my head,
Trod with a lighter tread.
Unwearied still, lover by lover,
They paddle in the cold
Companionable streams or climb the air;
Their hearts have not grown old;
Passion or conquest, wander where they will,
Attend upon them still.
But now they drift on the still water,
Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake's edge or pool
Delight men's eyes when I awake some day
To find they have flown away?
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