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The Wild Swans at Coole
The Wild Swans at Coole is a lyric poem by the Irish poet William Butler Yeats (1865–1939). Written between 1916 and early 1917. It is a beautiful poem much loved by many, considered to be one of his finest works.
115 pages, ebook
First published January 1, 1919
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751 people want to read
About the author
W.B. Yeats
2,043 books2,563 followersWilliam Butler Yeats was an Irish poet and dramatist, and one of the foremost figures of 20th century literature. A pillar of both the Irish and British literary establishments, in his later years Yeats served as an Irish Senator for two terms. He was a driving force behind the Irish Literary Revival, and along with Lady Gregory and Edward Martyn founded the Abbey Theatre, serving as its chief during its early years. In 1923 he was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature for what the Nobel Committee described as "inspired poetry, which in a highly artistic form gives expression to the spirit of a whole nation." He was the first Irishman so honored. Yeats is generally considered one of the few writers who completed their greatest works after being awarded the Nobel Prize; such works include The Tower (1928) and The Winding Stair and Other Poems (1929).
Yeats was born and educated in Dublin but spent his childhood in County Sligo. He studied poetry in his youth, and from an early age was fascinated by both Irish legends and the occult. Those topics feature in the first phase of his work, which lasted roughly until the turn of the century. His earliest volume of verse was published in 1889, and those slow paced and lyrical poems display debts to Edmund Spenser and Percy Bysshe Shelley, as well as to the Pre-Raphaelite poets. From 1900, Yeats' poetry grew more physical and realistic. He largely renounced the transcendental beliefs of his youth, though he remained preoccupied with physical and spiritual masks, as well as with cyclical theories of life.
--from Wikipedia
Yeats was born and educated in Dublin but spent his childhood in County Sligo. He studied poetry in his youth, and from an early age was fascinated by both Irish legends and the occult. Those topics feature in the first phase of his work, which lasted roughly until the turn of the century. His earliest volume of verse was published in 1889, and those slow paced and lyrical poems display debts to Edmund Spenser and Percy Bysshe Shelley, as well as to the Pre-Raphaelite poets. From 1900, Yeats' poetry grew more physical and realistic. He largely renounced the transcendental beliefs of his youth, though he remained preoccupied with physical and spiritual masks, as well as with cyclical theories of life.
--from Wikipedia
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 46 reviews
January 16, 2025
Another wonderful volume of poetry from Yeats, this is streaked through with a deep, weary sadness that wasn’t as prevalent in the previous volumes I’ve read. Very moving in places.
An Irish Airman Foresees His Death
I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate-
Those that I guard I do not love;
My country is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan’s poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public man, nor angry crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.
An Irish Airman Foresees His Death
I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate-
Those that I guard I do not love;
My country is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan’s poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public man, nor angry crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.
December 7, 2018
si avvicina il natale, e come è consuetudine rileggo (venerando ad uno a uno i suoi versi) William Butler Yeats e, in particolare, le poesie dei cigni selvatici di Coole. Mi avvicina a lui un'immagine: quella di una scogliera. si sentiva muto e appassionato come uno scogliera. gli Yeats erano uomini di molte idee e nessuna passione. Se non fosse stato per il ramo materno non avrebbe trovato parole da prestare a quella scogliera. E le parole gli venivano anche da quell'amore culminato nel matrimonio di Maud Gonne con il maggiore MacBride a Parigi. L'infrangersi del sogno di poter sposare Maud recherà talmente tanta sofferenza al poeta che egli cercherà di placare il dolore pensando che questa sofferenza era il germoglio più importante per far nascere la sua opera. Scrivere è un tentativo di spiegarsi a lei. "Avrei potuto gettare via le povere parole", dice in una sua bella poesia "e accontentarmi della vita". l'infelicità dei poeti è la nostra felicità. le loro parole resina di estremo dolore, equilibrio tra morte e vita, aspra solitudine.
Passate un buon natale.
Passate un buon natale.
January 14, 2023
I've lately been occupied in reading these poems aloud to a friend of mine who is a baby (having friends who are babies is an excellent excuse for reading books aloud without feeling silly about it), and the act of reading them aloud makes me aware in a whole new way of how great they are. This collection has always been close to my heart -- many years ago, in adolescence, it inspired me to use mountainhare as an alias on blogging platforms, etc. This time around, my favorite piece is probably "Her Praise," but I'm finding something to love in virtually every poem, even the long ones that I didn't care for so much when I was younger. Like these lines in "The Double Vision of Michael Robartes":
"my dreams that fly...
And yet in flying fling into my meat
A crazy juice that makes the pulses beat"
Or these tender, relatable stanzas in "In Memory of Major Robert Gregory," about how his friend Robert, who died young, used to help him out with home maintenance issues:
"What other could so well have counselled us
In all lovely intricacies of a house
As he that practised or that understood
All work in metal or in wood,
In moulded plaster or in carven stone?
Soldier, scholar, horseman, he,
And all he did done perfectly
As though he had but that one trade alone.
"Some burn damp fagots, others may consume
The entire combustible world in one small room
As though dried straw, and if we turn about
The bare chimney is gone black out
Because the work had finished in that flare.
Soldier, scholar, horseman, he,
As 'twere all life's epitome.
What made us dream that he could comb grey hair?"
"my dreams that fly...
And yet in flying fling into my meat
A crazy juice that makes the pulses beat"
Or these tender, relatable stanzas in "In Memory of Major Robert Gregory," about how his friend Robert, who died young, used to help him out with home maintenance issues:
"What other could so well have counselled us
In all lovely intricacies of a house
As he that practised or that understood
All work in metal or in wood,
In moulded plaster or in carven stone?
Soldier, scholar, horseman, he,
And all he did done perfectly
As though he had but that one trade alone.
"Some burn damp fagots, others may consume
The entire combustible world in one small room
As though dried straw, and if we turn about
The bare chimney is gone black out
Because the work had finished in that flare.
Soldier, scholar, horseman, he,
As 'twere all life's epitome.
What made us dream that he could comb grey hair?"
July 27, 2007
"I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate,
Those that I guard I do not love;"
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate,
Those that I guard I do not love;"
August 7, 2017
The last two lines of "The Song":
'...For who could have foretold
That the heart grows old.'
Yeats' truths can sometimes hurt in his most heartfelt work, some
of which is represented in this volume.
'...For who could have foretold
That the heart grows old.'
Yeats' truths can sometimes hurt in his most heartfelt work, some
of which is represented in this volume.
May 10, 2024
Poetry is not of the genre which I can claim I have read extensively, or heck even decently. The most memorable poem in my head, is The Solitary Reader by William Wordsworth. That too because of a passionate 10th grade English Tutor.
Then there was Gitanjali, the collection of works by Rabindranath Tagore. But those were more spiritual in nature, one's appreciation is more towards the depth of the lyrics rather than its flow.
This year, I've been trying to rectify that shortcoming, but Gods it's not as easy as reading prose.
With literary fiction, you can usually get hooked on the narration. The premise, the characters, what they do, how they do it, what doing it does to them, does to the story, the twists, the turns, the parables, the subtext, the works. With Poetry, I'm drawing a blank.
There is also the case that I might not have chosen necessarily the best work to get started. Some of the entries by Mr. Yeats describe common themes of loss, friendship, melancholy and the likes. But many are phrased in a way that only a proper English gentlemen might gain full appreciation of them. With all the burrows, fords, birches, hedges and whatnot. A really Engh-lish gentlemen.
Hope the rest were able to gain better appreciation of the work, because I didn't, though perhaps through no fault of the source material, but rather the incongruity.
Then there was Gitanjali, the collection of works by Rabindranath Tagore. But those were more spiritual in nature, one's appreciation is more towards the depth of the lyrics rather than its flow.
This year, I've been trying to rectify that shortcoming, but Gods it's not as easy as reading prose.
With literary fiction, you can usually get hooked on the narration. The premise, the characters, what they do, how they do it, what doing it does to them, does to the story, the twists, the turns, the parables, the subtext, the works. With Poetry, I'm drawing a blank.
There is also the case that I might not have chosen necessarily the best work to get started. Some of the entries by Mr. Yeats describe common themes of loss, friendship, melancholy and the likes. But many are phrased in a way that only a proper English gentlemen might gain full appreciation of them. With all the burrows, fords, birches, hedges and whatnot. A really Engh-lish gentlemen.
Hope the rest were able to gain better appreciation of the work, because I didn't, though perhaps through no fault of the source material, but rather the incongruity.
March 30, 2018
Yeats at his typical gloomy but not impenetrable self.
Some favorite lines:
Though pedantry denies
It’s plain the Bible means
That Solomon grew wise
While talking with his queens
Yeats, “On Women”
A PRAYER ON GOING INTO MY HOUSE
GOD grant a blessing on this tower and cottage
And on my heirs, if all remain unspoiled,
No table, or chair or stool not simple enough
For shepherd lads in Galilee ; and grant
That I myself for portions of the year
May handle nothing and set eyes on nothing
But what the great and passionate have used
Throughout so many varying centuries.
We take it for the norm ; yet should I dream
Sinbad the sailor’s brought a painted chest,
Or image, from beyond the Loadstone Mountain,
That dream is a norm ; and should some limb of the devil
Destroy the view by cutting down an ash
That shades the road, or setting up a cottage
Planned in a government office, shorten his life,
Manacle his soul upon the Red Sea bottom.
Some favorite lines:
Though pedantry denies
It’s plain the Bible means
That Solomon grew wise
While talking with his queens
Yeats, “On Women”
A PRAYER ON GOING INTO MY HOUSE
GOD grant a blessing on this tower and cottage
And on my heirs, if all remain unspoiled,
No table, or chair or stool not simple enough
For shepherd lads in Galilee ; and grant
That I myself for portions of the year
May handle nothing and set eyes on nothing
But what the great and passionate have used
Throughout so many varying centuries.
We take it for the norm ; yet should I dream
Sinbad the sailor’s brought a painted chest,
Or image, from beyond the Loadstone Mountain,
That dream is a norm ; and should some limb of the devil
Destroy the view by cutting down an ash
That shades the road, or setting up a cottage
Planned in a government office, shorten his life,
Manacle his soul upon the Red Sea bottom.
May 19, 2021
Lindo.
February 24, 2019
A collection of 40 poems from 1919. Highlights - "the wild swans at coole" "the fisherman" "an Irish airman foresees his death" "the cat and the moon"
July 4, 2017
Not every poem is a classic, but some are, and Yeats's music and imagery put almost all living poets in the shade.
June 20, 2016
Thanks to my daughter, I was fortunate to encounter the poems of W.B. Yeats upon my recent visit to Dublin. Having visited the Yeats exhibition at the National Library of Ireland, I was intrigued by this complex man who wrote so deftly about issues, such as aging and death, as well as love, and the beauty of nature. I especially loved the poem to which this collection was named, ‘The Wild Swans of Coole,’ a place of extraordinary beauty in which Yeats contemplates how the lovely swans, unlike himself who is weary, still experience life passionately and freely. In witnessing the swans paddling in the cold, or the lovely moment of the ‘bell-beat of their wings’ above his head, Yeats also realizes how fleeting this moment of beauty can be, as he considers how when he awakens some day, the swans may have flown away.
It seems to me that Yeats often wrote about his relationships with women, and since he was promiscuous throughout his life, he was awarded with ample writing resources. Throughout his life, Yeats possessed an unrequited love for a well-spirited woman named Maude Gonne with whom he maintained a close friendship throughout his life. In this anthology, Yeats writes a very short poem, entitled ‘Memory,’ in which he compares the love of his life to a mountain hare, for where the hare lies, its form cannot be held in the mountain grass. To me, Yeats speaks of the elusiveness of this idyllic relationship. Written with only a few lines, this poem to me is almost perfection, as a haiku, which succinctly speaks profoundly with minimal words.
It seems to me that Yeats often wrote about his relationships with women, and since he was promiscuous throughout his life, he was awarded with ample writing resources. Throughout his life, Yeats possessed an unrequited love for a well-spirited woman named Maude Gonne with whom he maintained a close friendship throughout his life. In this anthology, Yeats writes a very short poem, entitled ‘Memory,’ in which he compares the love of his life to a mountain hare, for where the hare lies, its form cannot be held in the mountain grass. To me, Yeats speaks of the elusiveness of this idyllic relationship. Written with only a few lines, this poem to me is almost perfection, as a haiku, which succinctly speaks profoundly with minimal words.
October 4, 2024
(Ver. 1919) Recopilación de poemas del autor.
La primera vez que escuché hablar de Yeats fue mientras vi hace alrededor de una década el primer capítulo de la segunda temporada de In the Flesh, donde uno de los personajes principales cita los siguientes versos de An Irish Airman Forsees His Death:
"I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balace with this life, this death."
Tremendo fue el impacto que tuvo en mí que todavía recuerdo parar el capítulo, buscar los versos en Google y descubrir de dónde venían. Sin embargo, hasta la fecha no me había atrevido a leer a Yeats de principio a fin y me alegro de haber esperado.
Ha sido una lectura preciosa y muy apta en contexto de sus años de creación y publicación. Hay algunos poemas que siguen temáticas similares y otros que van por libre (de ahí viene un poco mi pequeño disgusto con el poemario, que no está nada ordenado ni por temática ni nada), al igual que unos se desbordan de calidad y otros están bien sin más. Como sé los que me han gustado sé a dónde volveré en el futuro. Es lo bueno de este tipo de poemarios.
La primera vez que escuché hablar de Yeats fue mientras vi hace alrededor de una década el primer capítulo de la segunda temporada de In the Flesh, donde uno de los personajes principales cita los siguientes versos de An Irish Airman Forsees His Death:
"I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balace with this life, this death."
Tremendo fue el impacto que tuvo en mí que todavía recuerdo parar el capítulo, buscar los versos en Google y descubrir de dónde venían. Sin embargo, hasta la fecha no me había atrevido a leer a Yeats de principio a fin y me alegro de haber esperado.
Ha sido una lectura preciosa y muy apta en contexto de sus años de creación y publicación. Hay algunos poemas que siguen temáticas similares y otros que van por libre (de ahí viene un poco mi pequeño disgusto con el poemario, que no está nada ordenado ni por temática ni nada), al igual que unos se desbordan de calidad y otros están bien sin más. Como sé los que me han gustado sé a dónde volveré en el futuro. Es lo bueno de este tipo de poemarios.
August 8, 2017
Fabulous. As one would expect of Yeats. It really produces that Stillness feeling you'd get from looking at the Lake at Coole Park. It's believed this Poem was written when Yeats was staying with a friend - Lady Gregory at Coole Park in Ireland. This is fabulous poetry. 5 stars.
November 14, 2015
Eh, I find that both this audiobook & the poems therein leave me lukewarm. I may try other Yeats poems but not in audio form...
June 16, 2016
Yeates
My favourite poet. Yeates is a great man and a genius wordsmith. Can easily be read and reread, always finding something new.
My favourite poet. Yeates is a great man and a genius wordsmith. Can easily be read and reread, always finding something new.
Want to read
January 27, 2017i want to read this one
May 27, 2017
Meditations on aging and death.
February 11, 2024
In the poem, Yeats replicates on how his life has altered since he was a younger man and walked ''with a lighter tread''. The poem gives us an image of personal gloom that uses the enduring magnificence of the swans to highpoint the brevity of human life.
Look at how the poem comes to a close. Yeats writes:
But now they drift on the still water,
Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake's edge or pool
Delight men's eyes when I awake some day
To find they have flown away?
The poem concludes with Yeats wondering where the swans will go next to ''Delight men's eyes''. Perhaps he means that they, unchanged, will continue to bring pleasure to others who stand as he does now, watching them glide once more on the still water.
The poem is set in autumn, and winter will unavoidably follow, for the poet. The swans seem unscathed by everything and will remain to ''drift on the still water''. Yeats may be thoughtful of his creativity when he ponders on the vagaries that time has fashioned. The swans are invariable, gratified, almost eternal. He is none of these things. In a way, the swans represent the life-force. Their hearts are unaffected by time. They find the stream intimate, regardless of the cold.
In Yeats’ mind, the swans embody the amalgamation of time and the timeless. The sense of the ‘anonymous’, the ‘unidentified’ and ‘exquisiteness’ which the swans evoke in the poet, makes the poem almost Wordsworthian. Especially, the poem is extraordinary for its manifestation of the sense of defeat and forfeiture.
Look at how the poem comes to a close. Yeats writes:
But now they drift on the still water,
Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake's edge or pool
Delight men's eyes when I awake some day
To find they have flown away?
The poem concludes with Yeats wondering where the swans will go next to ''Delight men's eyes''. Perhaps he means that they, unchanged, will continue to bring pleasure to others who stand as he does now, watching them glide once more on the still water.
The poem is set in autumn, and winter will unavoidably follow, for the poet. The swans seem unscathed by everything and will remain to ''drift on the still water''. Yeats may be thoughtful of his creativity when he ponders on the vagaries that time has fashioned. The swans are invariable, gratified, almost eternal. He is none of these things. In a way, the swans represent the life-force. Their hearts are unaffected by time. They find the stream intimate, regardless of the cold.
In Yeats’ mind, the swans embody the amalgamation of time and the timeless. The sense of the ‘anonymous’, the ‘unidentified’ and ‘exquisiteness’ which the swans evoke in the poet, makes the poem almost Wordsworthian. Especially, the poem is extraordinary for its manifestation of the sense of defeat and forfeiture.
July 25, 2022
The rhythm is very good. I believe I missed a couple of relevant points, since there seems to be a lot of symbolism and the Irish mythos goes way above my knowledge of world culture... So a "guide" probably would be an appropriate reading as well.
Since this is actually in preparation for Poets Thinking: Pope, Whitman, Dickinson, Yeats, hopefully there'll be some clarification once I start that book.
I liked quite a lot Mr. Peter Tucker as a narrator. He definitely has the voice for poetry and a good eye for the rhythm.
(So, to be clear, the minus one star has to do more with being unable to understand some of the layers rather than a poor presentation from Mr. Yeats or Mr. Tucker.)
Since this is actually in preparation for Poets Thinking: Pope, Whitman, Dickinson, Yeats, hopefully there'll be some clarification once I start that book.
I liked quite a lot Mr. Peter Tucker as a narrator. He definitely has the voice for poetry and a good eye for the rhythm.
(So, to be clear, the minus one star has to do more with being unable to understand some of the layers rather than a poor presentation from Mr. Yeats or Mr. Tucker.)
July 26, 2019
The Wild Swans at Coole
Another collection of poems from the collected works of Yeats.
Very good collection.
Different themes, good rhymes, some were shorts...
Really enjoyed: An Irish Airman Foresees His Death, The Fisherman.
Another collection of poems from the collected works of Yeats.
Very good collection.
Different themes, good rhymes, some were shorts...
Really enjoyed: An Irish Airman Foresees His Death, The Fisherman.
I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate,
Those that I guard I do not love
July 8, 2024
FULL REVIEW ON MY WEBSITE
https://thebookcornerchronicles.com/2...
Yet again another boring poem which really did torture me while I was reading it because it was so uninteresting for me.
The plot was super boring and really had a hard time trying to like this poem which I failed to do in the end.
The writing style here was super bad as well and it really made this poem to a torture of reading it.
https://thebookcornerchronicles.com/2...
Yet again another boring poem which really did torture me while I was reading it because it was so uninteresting for me.
The plot was super boring and really had a hard time trying to like this poem which I failed to do in the end.
The writing style here was super bad as well and it really made this poem to a torture of reading it.
January 8, 2025
I've never read Yeats poetry until this book and I find he's got skill when writing about nature. I especially liked the lines about autumn and felt like I could see what he was describing. It created such a longing in me, I was tempted to go online and look at fall pictures. I think I hate this time of year and this cold and snow doesn't help. Perhaps I just really love autumn. In any case, I still found the poem enchanting. You could easily imagine the swans he was seeing.
July 14, 2021
A really beautiful of sometimes elaborate and difficult (but so very worthwhile!!) poetry. The version I downloaded is the 1919 version (there are two related collections published in 1917 and 1919 with the same name, per Wikipedia.)
August 14, 2025
Herre!
Oerhört blandad kompott. Det mesta kännetecknas av något slags ockult längtan, en romanticism övergången till ... jag vet inte vad. Läsvärd - mycket! Second coming är inte en udda dikt i denna samling.
Oerhört blandad kompott. Det mesta kännetecknas av något slags ockult längtan, en romanticism övergången till ... jag vet inte vad. Läsvärd - mycket! Second coming är inte en udda dikt i denna samling.
September 28, 2017
My personal favourites were, "An Irish Airman Foresees His Death", "The Dawn", "The Fisherman", "Ego Domnius Tuus", and "Two Songs Of A Fool".
October 9, 2017
“Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake’s edge or pool
Delight men’s eyes, when I awake some day
To find they have flown away?”
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake’s edge or pool
Delight men’s eyes, when I awake some day
To find they have flown away?”
December 19, 2018
Terrific midlife crisis Yeats!
March 31, 2020
Not Yeats' best poetry, but I enjoyed it.
Read
July 4, 2020one of the books you never finish as long as you live
February 9, 2023
Splendida raccolta di gemme poetiche, una più risplendente dell'altra.
Displaying 1 - 30 of 46 reviews