To William Butler Yeats Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

as far as day is from night then

you would be tuning your harp

near the rills down to Benbulbin


or where I cannot wind

because I've never been there.

but I have been in poetry


thick as field flowers up to my chin

in it so that the gold rubs off

and I would remember clouds


and their roselit aftermaths

and so much then

that could not be said


any longer, in words.

where has the treasure gone

and who has filched it now.


who will find them again

the lost longings crystallized

the music, measure by measure recalled


the strains of immortal language

falling on the air

like thundering pearl.


and the awe of it all.


mary angela douglas 13 september 2019