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Ronan's report


Sunday 16th January, 2011

Lots of debate on the board over definitions. Many words, some of them heated, being written and re-written, and chewed over. A lot of this debate hinges on the use of words, and how they are or could be interpreted. It's heavy stuff - at 59 pages and counting.

So for a bit of a break I thought I'd remind everyone of an instance of the sublime use of words. No debate. WB Yeats. Enjoy.

Will

The Song of Wandering Aengus

I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;

And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire a-flame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And some one called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.

WB Yeats


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