William Butler Yeats

(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939 / County Dublin / Ireland)

The Player Queen - Poem by William Butler Yeats

MY mother dandled me and sang,
'How young it is, how young! '
And made a golden cradle
That on a willow swung.
'He went away,' my mother sang,
'When I was brought to bed,'
And all the while her needle pulled
The gold and silver thread.
She pulled the thread and bit the thread
And made a golden gown,
And wept because she had dreamt that I
Was born to wear a crown.
'When she was got,' my mother sang,
I heard a sea-mew cry,
And saw a flake of the yellow foam
That dropped upon my thigh.'
How therefore could she help but braid
The gold into my hair,
And dream that I should carry
The golden top of care?

Topic(s) of this poem: mother


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Read poems about / on: mother, silver, hair, dream, sea, song



Poem Submitted: Tuesday, December 31, 2002

Poem Edited: Wednesday, December 17, 2014


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