W.B. Yeats (1865-1939). A Tribute in bronze by Henry Moore. Erected by admirers of the poet. October 1967.
This sculpture is in St Stephen's Green, in a beautifully laid out quiet corner of the park. The spot is hugely popular with working Dubliners at lunchtime. Yeats is a bit of a tough nut to crack for me. I love some of his stuff, but his forrays into mysticism and his strange plays with their immersion in the Celtic Twilight do nothing for me. But some of the poetry Ah, that's a different story, so much so that I'm finishing this photo series with two pieces by Yeats. The first quote below is the conclusion of Broken Dreams, one of my all-time favourites, while the second is complete: the wonderful poem He wishes for the cloths of Heaven.
The last stroke of midnight dies.
All day in the one chair
From dream to dream and rhyme to rhyme I have ranged
In rambling talk with an image of air:
Vague memories, nothing but memories.
Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams.
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