The Lake Isle of Innisfree

The Lake Isle of Innisfree

W. B. Yeats- 1865-1939

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.

Britain is not my Home

If some Scots are fearful

What are they afraid of –

Afraid of the British army boots

Or their missiles?

Afraid of Britain refusing to trade?

Britain is not my home.

Britain is some far flung concept

Of some far away isles.

Of exploitation, of a false superiority,

Of old empire sun.

Britain is not my home.

My home is the green of Ireland’s

Galway Bay, Mountains of Mourne,

And the long, low shore,.

My home is the misty glens,

And the mountains song.

The pipes that play in the morning air,

Old Scotia is my home.

I may fill in the UK on those

online boxes,

But it’s a lie.

Britain is not my home.

December 2017