Explore "The Danaan Quicken Tree" by W.B. Yeats on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Beloved, hear my bitter tale! --
Now making busy with the oar, / Now flinging loose the slanting sail, / I hurried from the woody shore, / And plucked small fruits on Innisfree.
(Ah, mournful Danaan quicken tree! )
A murmuring faery multitude, / When flying to the heart of light / From playing hurley in the wood / With creatures of our heavy night, / A berry threw for me -- or thee.
(Ah, mournful Danaan quicken tree! )
And thereon grew a tender root, / And thereon grew a tender stem, / And thereon grew the ruddy fruit / That are a poison to all men / And meat to the Aslauga Shee.
(Ah, mournful Danaan quicken tree! )
If when the battle is half won, / I fling away my sword, blood dim, / Or leave some service all undone, / Beloved, blame the Danaan whim, / And blame the snare they set for me.
(Ah, mournful Danaan quicken tree! )
Cast out all hope, cast out all fear, / And taste with me the faeries' meat, / For while I blamed them I could hear / Dark Joan call the berries sweet, / Where Niam heads the revelry.
(Ah, mournful Danaan quicken tree! )