The Haunting Beauty of Ireland

                                                                

             

There is a haunting beauty in all of Ireland—in its windswept cliffs and its rock-strewn shores…in a rose that still blooms by a cottage door, abandoned long ago…in a lonely churchyard, shrouded in the morning mists, its tombstones   tilting over moss-covered graves…in sad and solemn castle ruins, where placid sheep now graze…

 You will see beauty in the lined faces of Her old…you will hear it in the lilting music of their voices…

The beauty of Ireland will creep beneath your skin and into your very bones.  It will warm your heart while you are there, and tug at your heartstrings when you are away…

My heart shall always yearn for Ireland.


           Lake Isle of Innisfree

I will arise and go now, and go to Innesfree,
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 heae 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.

          -W. B. Yeats