The violin that
Plays
Not always in
The limelight
Most often plays
Away.
It be the rhythm of
The verse
The Soul of chanting
Too
Noble poet
From small beginnings
You
Quick arose
And in your pantheon
There's heavens, magic,
Greatness, and
Nobility too.
That to me
Was an example so.
When verses do not flow
Your verses read I
Within my heart they sow
New verses replacing the parched
Throat.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Wonderful praise-song for the venerable W. B. Yeats! ! He is one of my favorite poets too. And in so far as I can call myself a poet, Yeats is my Master. Your are so right in identifying his restorative power, that rescues us from failure and loss of inspiration.