W.B.Yeats – ‘Leda and the Swan’

[  # 91 of My Favourite Short Poems  ]

Detail from ‘The Swanmaster’ by Diana Thomson FRBS … sculpture at Staines-on-Thames, England. Photo WHB. ©

‘Leda and the Swan’ by W.B.Yeats

A sudden blow: the great wings beating still
Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed
By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,
He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.

How can those terrified vague fingers push
The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?
And how can body, laid in that white rush,
But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?

A shudder in the loins engenders there
The broken wall, the burning roof and tower
And Agamemnon dead.
Being so caught up,
So mastered by the brute blood of the air,
Did she put on his knowledge with his power
Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?

The Irish poet, W.B.Yeats,  wrote ‘Leda and the Swan’ in 1923, the year in which he was awarded the Nobel prize for Literature.   Yeats, who had a great love of both folklore and mythology, chose to write his version of the story of Leda and the Swan as a Petrarchan sonnet.  It tells the story of Zeus, the Father of the Greek Gods, and his seduction in the form of a swan, of Leda, daughter of King Thestius.  One interpretation of the story as presented by Yeats, is to see its theme as a metaphor for British involvement in Ireland.  Alternatively, it can be read as a generalised representation of the way western civilisation has developed. His choice to write the poem as a sonnet can also be viewed as an ironic comment, contrasting what is a rape with a poetic form normally associated with love and romance.

 

‘Tales Once Told’ – A SONNET

‘Contemplation: Rydal Water’ …  Pen&Ink – WHB

Tales Once Told

 

The rain-filled sky is bleak and sad today,
Its loaded clouds weep bitter joyless tears,
While winter winds arouse the foam-topped waves,
Seeking to prove the truth of all my fears.

Tears, as raindrops, fall when I feel sad.
I shed them as I think what might have been.
For fears that life, with time, is running out
Reflect on what my life has come to mean.

The joys of youth now turned to old age cares,
And I must be content that life was long.
So many of the friends who I once knew
Have now departed, lived, and sung their song.

But, I will join them in the realms of gold,
And we can reminisce on tales once told.

 

A Son to his Mother – A Sonnet

As the clouds have wept on your grave
Since you left this world behind,
So do my tears flow
When your memory brings to mind
The love you had for me, 
Which in my lust for life
I never did return, 
But with my careless knife
Cut out the debt I owed.
Left you to love alone, 
To suffer silently,
My gratitude unknown
Forever to my shame,
I am the child to blame.

A Secret Sonnet

‘Moonlight Tryst’ – WHB: Pen an ink, Dec.2017

They stressed my heart and bled it
Seeking to find you there,
But try as they could to discover
They never will find out where
You hide in lonely seclusion,
Your impregnable lonely lair.

For you are my cerebral lover,
Living a life in my brain;
We hold our trysts in the moonlight,
Let them look for ever in vain,
They never ever will find you,
For there is nought to explain.

Just a salve to pain and depression,
A caprice with a discreet confession.

Sonnet to the Morning

Morning

As the seductive sun appears
Dispensing its joy in generous rays
The air I breathe is warm yet fresh
And the world awakes from its malaise.

Content to soak up all the warmth,
The earth, the grass, the trees are still,
Suffused with morning’s cooling  calm
Sharing a taste of earth’s goodwill.

The elfin stream is placid too
Reflecting back the sunlight’s heat
Tending the water’s life below
Coaxing us all the sun to greet.

Oh, make the most of this fair day
Before it melts and drifts away.

 

I composed this sonnet inspired by an early morning scene in The New Forest, Southern England,  which is also the subject of my pen and wash sketch above.

LOVE SONNET

Over one pendant heart our sighs enmesh,
Gripped by a similar aspirant fuse,
To engage and perpetrate our love,
Resolve our natures, past abuse.

 Set apart from stolen trysts;
Enjoyed in our own pristine ways;
Captioned by us alone with worth;
Our love supplies itself with praise.

 Enthused with thoughts of sacrifice
Made pleasure, when another’s wish
Suggests that all is not suffice,
My hope ferments, divinely sung.

 More fully seasoned with each kiss
A good ripe wine tells on the tongue.