I will rise and go now, I will go to Innisfree,
And I will build a little cabin there, made of clay and wattles,
Nine rows of beans will I have there, a hive for the honeybee,
And I will live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I will have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
Midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wings.

I will rise 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.

Summer On The West Hill