Welcome back to the Daily Poem here on the Close Reeds Podcast Network. I'm David Kern.

Today is January 27th, 2020, and tomorrow on January 28th, it will be the anniversary of William

Butler Yates' death day. He died on January 28th, 1939. He was, of course, an Irish poet and one of

the foremost figures of 20th century literature.

Harold Bloom referred to him as probably the major poet in English of the 20th century,

surpassing even Thomas Hardy, Robert Frost, Wallace, Stevens, T.S. Eliot, and Hart Crane.

One might have to turn to William Wordsworth to find a more eminent poet, end quote.

And that comes from his collection, which I've mentioned before, the best poems of the English language.

So this week, given the eminence of Yates and given that he died on January 28th,

I wanted to read for you several of Yates' best poetry.

And the poem that I'm going to read to today is called The Song of Wandering Angus. It was first printed in 1897 in a British magazine called The Sketch

with the title A Mad Song. And then later on, it was published in 1890 in an anthology called The Wind

Among the Reeds.

This is how it goes.

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 aflame, but something rustled

on the floor and someone 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

...