Monday Morning You Look So Fine: William Butler Yeats.

Something different... verse, unsung... prose by Yeats, on what is "popular poetry"? Another disconnected Irishman, such as myself, was discussing similar things with me: What puts the "pop" in popular, and where then may we then draw our electricity from?

This was all shortly before the others woke... long before this image was made, though the conversation had spread constantly over this pastoral landscape.

Last night I saw another reference to Yeats, a meek one... felt obliged to dig out some dusty books, remind myself why I laud W.B. above most others, and why I have battled Hunter as to this... for Hunter, I guess.

Here's Yeats, in reference to "Nature":

"It is for her sake that we must stir ourselves, but we would not trouble to get out of bed in the morning, or to leave our chairs once we are in them, if she had not her conjuring bag." - W.B. Yeats

Later.