Longing for Innisfree

This is really not a blog post... this is just a note of longing, a sigh, from a tired soul. 

Tired beyond words by the reality of the pandemic - as it is borne out in her particular case.

6 months of not being infected by the Corona virus should be considered luck, and the life lived gratefully accepted... but utter exhaustion can kill joy and numb gratefulness. 

One longs for rest, sleep, peace... one longs for Innisfree...

Thank you, Yeats, for understanding my state so well... & giving it utterance more than a century ago!

*****

The Lake Isle of Innisfree

BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS

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.

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 grey,

I hear it in the deep heart’s core.

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