Personal Journey - WB Yeats & Thoor Ballylee

A more ancient tower

I have been fascinated by Yeats for many years, and at first loved his poetry based on his early experiences of Sligo and Irish mythology. But Yeats' work extended throughout his life exploring the gamut of human experience, and among the many remarkable places that featured in his poetry, such as Coole Park, was also of course his home at Thoor Ballylee.

An ancient bridge

An ancient bridge, and a more ancient tower,
A farmhouse that is sheltered by its wall,
An acre of stony ground,
Where the symbolic rose can break in flower


the symbolic rose


I have visited Ireland many times, but have never been to the tower, so this year on another Irish journey, I made a special 'pilgrimage' to Thoor Ballylee - hidden away as it is in the Galway countryside. It was a marvellous experince, strangely made all the better because the tower was closed, having been badly flooded in the previous winter. I say 'better', because although it was not possible to go inside, we had the place entirely to ourselves, with of course the pervading presence of Yeats himself.

... these characters remain ...

I, the poet William Yeats,
With old mill boards and sea green slates,
And smithy work from the Gort forge,
Restored this tower for my wife George;
And may these characters remain
When all is ruin once again.

The garden was overgrown, the stream rushed past the old tower, moss and lichen grew on the walls and trees and there was a totally magical feeling to the whole place. We were able to wander through the property alone with our thoughts, the presence of Yeats as he too had wandered through his land, and the music of his wonderful poetry playing through our minds and souls. 

I pace upon the battlements

I pace upon the battlements and stare
On the foundations of a house, or where
Tree, like a sooty finger, starts from the earth;
And send imagination forth
Under the day's declining beam, and call
Images and memories
From ruin or from ancient trees,
For I would ask a question of them all.

Quietly we slipped away leaving Yeats pacing his battlements with our own images and memories of his extraordinary and inspiring life and work.