The Wild Swans at Coole
The trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water
Mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water among the stones
Are nine-and-fifty swans.
The nineteenth autumn has come upon me
Since I first made my count;
I saw, before I had well finished,
All suddenly mount
And scatter wheeling in great broken rings
Upon their clamorous wings.
I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,
And now my heart is sore.
All's changed since I, hearing at twilight,
The first time on this shore,
The bell-beat of their wings above my head,
Trod with a lighter tread.
Unwearied still, lover by lover,
They paddle in the cold
Companionable streams or climb the air;
Their hearts have not grown old;
Passion or conquest, wander where they will,
Attend upon them still.
But now they drift on the still water,
Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake's edge or pool
Delight men's eyes when I awake some day
To find they have flown away?
Notes
Nineteen autumns can pass before we realize how much of ourselves has changed. In W. B. Yeats's The Wild Swans at Coole, the poet returns to a familiar lake and counts fifty-nine swans moving across its still waters. The birds appear as vigorous as ever, while he feels the weight of the years separating him from his younger self. Memory has a strange way of preserving the world while exposing our own impermanence. We return to familiar places expecting continuity, only to discover that the person who once inhabited them no longer exists in quite the same way. The swans become an image of everything we wish could remain untouched by time. October's Decay feels especially intimate here. The autumn trees and quiet water have witnessed another year, but Yeats knows that even this familiar scene cannot be kept. One day, he may return to find the swans have flown elsewhere. #WBYeats #IrishPoetry #ModernistPoetry #Existentialism #Impermanence