The Lake Isle of Innisfree is the work of W. B. Yeats, one of my favourite poets.
Why do I like this poem?
First, the rhythm. Quiet, lilting, skirting the graceful boundary between poetry and music.
And also the theme of solitude. I find that quite compelling in poetry. I like the imagery of Yeats arising, going to Innisfree, building a ‘small cabin’ there (‘of clay and wattles made’), taking care of food (‘nine bean-rows’, and honey), and then settling to ‘live alone in the bee-loud glade’. I like the contentment that speaks through his purpose.
And the peace he awaits there; the peace that ‘comes dropping slow’. I love the literary device he employs here.
Here is the relevant stanza:
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.
The first line ends with peace ‘dropping slow’. And then the next line takes up the word, ‘dropping’. In essence, the word ‘drops’ from the first line, down into the second. As such, you can almost hear ‘peace’ dropping from the first line into the second. Just like dew drops, quiet and consistent, the word ‘dropping’ drops from the first line, and quietly into the second. Such an exciting use of poetry.
(On solitude in poetry: I’ve discussed this theme elsewhere in this blog. See this post on Frost’s ‘Into My Own’.)
Yeats makes Innisfree come alive to those who have never heard of it, never been there, never will go there, and don’t even know if such a place even exists. He tells us of this alluring island, but makes it clear that it is his alone. There he will build his cabin, secure his food, and ‘have some peace’.
He also longs for the ‘lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore’. A masterful use of alliteration. And those words on the tongue, ‘lake water lapping’, evocative of the very picture itself.
Innisfree is never far from Yeats. Even in the midst of dull urbanity – when he stands on the roadway or ‘on the pavements grey’, the very sound of Innisfree is still there with him – ‘I hear it in the deep heart’s core.’
It makes the reader want also to ‘arise, and go now, and go to Innisfree’. But, ironically, that is the very thing that the poem does not want: it is a beautiful place, and Yeats can’t help but sing its praises, but, ultimately, he wants it all to himself.
Many years ago, a friend gave me a recording of Yeats reciting this poem. It was such a thoughtful and lovely gift, and I have since treasured it. Given that Yeats died in 1939, you can imagine how old this recording must be. Hearing this wonderful poem in the poet’s own voice, that is truly a privilege.
Whenever I recite this poem, my mind goes back to this recording of the poem: the sound of Yeats’s voice over the scratchy production, his gentle lilt, and his pronunciation of ‘Innisfree’, with adorable emphasis on the last syllable.
Poetry is a deeply individual thing. And so, even with this recording of Yeats, my recitation and experience of the poem remain entirely mine. And, in my experience of the poem, not even the writer may intrude. The themes of solitude, peace, and quiet, these all speak deeply to me. A lovely, inviting island that Yeats has shown me. He may not have wanted us to follow him there, but he has shown us its beauty, and left us his dreams.
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