Peace Comes Dropping Slow

I hadn't realized it till just now, but yesterday was National Poetry Day. To mark this here's the poem that first turned me on, as a teenager, to poetry and the outdoors. I know it's an anthology piece and full of adolescent yearning. But I still love it and always will.

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 grey,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.

W. B. YEATS

There's a hypnotic beauty, a still magic to this poem that I find indescribably moving.