all that wild summons he had set upon the winds, Yeats
returned
to the seven woods
surely the winds must have turned away
for there was no hearing
and so he called again
to an earth grown hard of hearing
as far as the Romantics were concerned
past all hearing, bearing-believing
in the seven woods and beyond,
to no avail
except the moonlight beaded the desolate
waters
except the starlight mourned through the windy trees
like a veil never lifted, yet lifting still
the sons and the daughters of dream
beyond the summers' green
what crowned thee with fame
and myth was stirred into an infinite flame
and poetry
though lamentation remained of all the lyric gifts
his best while his soul still sang here
what good was it to rename
the constellations in her honor
least of all to rechristen the old, old names.
mary angela douglas 3 july 2022;15 march 2023
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