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.
I love the “bee-loud glade”: Innisfree is so quiet the bees are loud. Two words to invert quiet and loudness, setting Innisfree as far from clamor as Eden.
First I loved the first stanza all out of proportion, but I’ve rounded out. The middle is a love song to Innisfree with beautiful swooping down-up curves of sound, like swallows wheeling over the lake. “Peace comes dropping slow, dropping from the veils of the morning to [up!] where the cricket sings,” again inverted where morning is the downnote and cricket-song night is the upnote. The last stanza beats softly like wavelets, heartbeats, remembrance of footsteps, the constant wish and promise that I will go to Innisfree. Each phrase ends slow and long in the final stanza; the distance breaks my heart.
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 gray,
I hear it in the deep lake’s core.