The Holm o Innisfree

A'll up an tak the gate nou, an gang tae Innisfree,
An a bit shielin big thare, o claut an mortar made:
Nine bean-raws will A hae thare, a stale for the bummin bee,
An bide ma lane in the bee-lood slade.

An A will hae some lown thare, for lown comes drappin slaw,
Drappin frae the murnin-wimple tae whaur the cheeper sings;
The howe o the nicht's ableize thare, an nuin a purpie daw.
An the gloamin fou o the lintie's wings.

A'll up an tak the gate nou, for aye still nicht an day
A hear loch watter lapperin wi laich soonds at the shore;
An me atap the plainstane, or on the causey gray,
A hear it in hert's wanlit core.

William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)