Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.
–refrain of “The Stolen Child,” William Butler Yeats
Yeats writes of escaping, again and again, and of sorrow, of things lost, of things weary, of things dead. I read it, weary, and am glad.
It seems that most of my favorite poetry partakes of this weariness to some degree. It need not be gloomy always, but it must understand that there is such a thing as gloom. If there were not, the idea of escape would make no sense.
It might sound rather nice to go into the waters and the wild hand in hand with a faery, but it is rather a strange thing without the reason that the world is full of weeping.
And I do not think it would be very appealing to talk of escaping the weeping world unless escape were actually possible. No, I do not think I can run away holding hands with a faery.
But I do have a promise of an end of tears. That is very good.