The lake isle of Inisfree
I will arise and go now, and go to Inisfree,
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 wing.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
Wile I stand on the roadway, or the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.
In The Rose (1893)
Good Read: Collected Poems & Writings on Irish Folklore, Legend and Myth
"... for poetry in Ireland has always been mysteriously connected with magic"