"Her Anxiety" by William Butler Yeats
Excited and nervous about my upcoming trip to Dublin, Ireland
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Last week I spent the majority of my time and energy composing and revising my essay for the Substack publication Inner Life. My essay runs today. Check it and Inner Life out when you can and consider becoming a free or paid subscriber to Inner Life. I am thrilled literature has such a supportive home on Substack.
Because of last week’s writing focus, today’s post is going to be brief and include a poem by the Irish Nobel Prize in Literature winner William Butler Yeats.
I picked this poem because I'm anxious right now about my upcoming trip to Dublin, Ireland. I’ve never been overseas before and am looking forward to visiting my ancestral homeland and working more on my novel for a week. I will also write reflections on Dublin and Ireland for my paid subscribers while I am there. I will admit, however, that I’m nervous about flying. I always have been. Flying over the Atlantic Ocean rattles my nerves even more.
My friend advised me to take a sleeping pill for the seven-hour ride. I definitely will. Though Yeats’s “Her Anxiety” addresses a different topic, the title itself fits where I am at the moment..
Her Anxiety by William Butler Yeats
Earth in beauty dressed
Awaits returning spring.
All true love must die,
Alter at the best
Into some lesser thing.
Prove that I lie.
Such body lovers have,
Such exacting breath,
That they touch or sigh.
Every touch they give,
Love is nearer death.
Prove that I lie.
Thanks for sharing the lovely Yeats poem. And bon voyage! I hope you have a great time in Dublin. A friend's just written from there and tells me it's raining (just for a change).
Laura,
Thanks for that poem. It seems to be in part a protest agains Shakespeare's line of "love is not love which alters when it alteration finds".