Yeats, Yeats, One of the Greats

A short tour of Ireland to find Yeats' depiction of Heaven or at least, respite:

The Lake Isle of Innisfree

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
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 wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake-water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.

William Butler Yeats

And now a tour of Montgomery County, Tennessee:

The Hills of Memory: Blackberry Summer

Like Yeats, I have a piece tattooed on the inner chambers of my heart. The eternally vivid colors depict a white farmhouse on a high, verdant hill, surrounded by the blanket of ancient fields, where the gospel wind breathes the breath of God softly on my temples and brings me to a place, whispering through the branches of the trees, as my family and I sit in forgotten metal chairs, comfortable in our surroundings, unmindful of the groaning of the old metal. High in the trees, enclosing us around, are the angelic whisperers of Spring's sweet promise, singing their names, "Bob White", through the Summer's flowing. Despite the burning of the Summer sun outside our place of sanctuary, a kiln to bake the furrows in the fields of toil, we are safe from the fire's burning and rocked among the rolling waves of memory and kept and preserved for tomorrow's dawning. The leaving of the light and the advent of the night bring no concern. Even in the darkening night there is no concern, because we are all there together, again, in the metal chairs of yesterday, talking softly, again, among the muscular trees above us in the eternal Summer. From Highway 41 to Highway 79 to Dunlop Lane to Baynham Drive. The source from which our life's blood flows.

What do you think, Kate?