Jestor
10-13-2005, 01:26 AM
The Man Who Dreamed Of Faeryland
He stood among a crowd at Dromahair;
His heart hung all upon a silken dress,
And he had known at last some tenderness,
Before earth took him to her stony care;
But when a man poured fish into a pile,
It seemed they raised their silver little heads,
And sang what gold morning or evening sheds
Upon a woven world-forgotten isle
Where people love beside the ravelled seas;
That Time can never mar a lover's vows
Under that woven changeless roof of boughs;
The singing shook him out of his new ease.
He wandered by the sands of Lissadell;
His mind ran all on money cares and fears,
And he had known at last some prudent years
Before they heaped his grave under the hill;
But while he passed before a plashy place,
A lug-worm with its grey and muddy mouth
Sang that somewhere to north or west or south
There dwelt a gay, exulting, gentle race
Under the golden or the silver skies;
That if a dancer stayed his hungry foot
It seemed the sun and moon were in the fruit:
And at that singing he was no more wise.
He mused beside the well of Scanavin,
He mused upon his mockers: without fail
His sudden vengeance were a country tale,
When earthy night had drunk his body in;
But one small knot-grass growing by the pool
Sang where---unnecessary cruel voice---
Old silence bids its chosen race rejoice,
Whatever ravelled waters rise and fall
Or stormy silver fret the gold of day,
And midnight there enfold them like a fleece
And lover there by lover be at peace.
The tale drove his fine angry mood away.
He slept under the hill of Lugnagall,
And might have known at last unhaunted sleep
Under the cold and vapour-turbaned steep,
Now that the earth had taken man and all;
Did not the worms that spired about his bones
Proclaim with that unwearied, reedy cry
That God has laid His fingers upon the sky,
That from those fingers glittering summer runs
Upon the dancer by the dreamless wave.
Why should those lovers that no lovers miss
Dream, until God burn Nature with a kiss?
The man has found no comfort in the grave.
-William Butler Yeats
"Your head is full of dreams, Jonathan my boy. You know what happens to those who idle away with nothing but flights of fancy don't you?"
Henry Gray was a solid man. Large and earthy, he smiled at everyone he met and filled out his custom-made suits so well that merely seeing him was enough to put you at ease. His manner, breezy and blunt all at once, was equally enjoyable to all those that knew him.
All those, save his son Jonathan, that is.
"Dad, just because *you* don't care about beauty or anything else that's wonderful in the world doesn't mean that everyone is like that. Have you ever really watched the stars at night? Seen the dying sun as it catches the golden hair of a pretty girl? You don't appreciate anything but money!"
Genetics had played a wonderful trick on father and son, for both were obstinate and hard-set in their ways, each of them eyeing the other now with spirited stubborness.
"Really, son, you wound me. I certainly appreciate the finer things in life. Petrovna's caviar the other night, for example, was simply exquisite! You need to stop this mooning about and make something of yourself. Why, I'll even help you if you want it."
Jonathan sighed and shook his head. That was one of the things he hated about his father. The old man always found a way to wiggle his way into things and after he'd helped someone, he spent the next twelve parties bragging about how he'd been the one to make the man. Still, he needed his father's assistance in this, much as he hated to admit it.
"I want to start a wrestling business, something that balances great matches and exciting characters. Something that'll get people to love wrestling as much as I do. We don't have any federations here in the Great Lakes, so there's a 'void in the market just waiting to be filled'. " The last words were spat with particular venom, for the young man knew well the elder's love of business speak.
"Certainly, son! I'm glad to see you taking an interest in being an entrepreneur. I'll write you a check for $250,000. That should be enough startup capital to last you at least a year. If you need more, you can always come to me, but I'll have to charge you interest then, as it'll be a loan at that point, rather than a present from a noble father to his beloved son."
Henry's cheerful tone grated on Jonathan's nerves, but there was nothing to be done but accept it.
"Thanks, Dad" muttered Jonathan through clenched teeth.
"Not a problem, son", Henry glibly replied with a beaming smile.
He stood among a crowd at Dromahair;
His heart hung all upon a silken dress,
And he had known at last some tenderness,
Before earth took him to her stony care;
But when a man poured fish into a pile,
It seemed they raised their silver little heads,
And sang what gold morning or evening sheds
Upon a woven world-forgotten isle
Where people love beside the ravelled seas;
That Time can never mar a lover's vows
Under that woven changeless roof of boughs;
The singing shook him out of his new ease.
He wandered by the sands of Lissadell;
His mind ran all on money cares and fears,
And he had known at last some prudent years
Before they heaped his grave under the hill;
But while he passed before a plashy place,
A lug-worm with its grey and muddy mouth
Sang that somewhere to north or west or south
There dwelt a gay, exulting, gentle race
Under the golden or the silver skies;
That if a dancer stayed his hungry foot
It seemed the sun and moon were in the fruit:
And at that singing he was no more wise.
He mused beside the well of Scanavin,
He mused upon his mockers: without fail
His sudden vengeance were a country tale,
When earthy night had drunk his body in;
But one small knot-grass growing by the pool
Sang where---unnecessary cruel voice---
Old silence bids its chosen race rejoice,
Whatever ravelled waters rise and fall
Or stormy silver fret the gold of day,
And midnight there enfold them like a fleece
And lover there by lover be at peace.
The tale drove his fine angry mood away.
He slept under the hill of Lugnagall,
And might have known at last unhaunted sleep
Under the cold and vapour-turbaned steep,
Now that the earth had taken man and all;
Did not the worms that spired about his bones
Proclaim with that unwearied, reedy cry
That God has laid His fingers upon the sky,
That from those fingers glittering summer runs
Upon the dancer by the dreamless wave.
Why should those lovers that no lovers miss
Dream, until God burn Nature with a kiss?
The man has found no comfort in the grave.
-William Butler Yeats
"Your head is full of dreams, Jonathan my boy. You know what happens to those who idle away with nothing but flights of fancy don't you?"
Henry Gray was a solid man. Large and earthy, he smiled at everyone he met and filled out his custom-made suits so well that merely seeing him was enough to put you at ease. His manner, breezy and blunt all at once, was equally enjoyable to all those that knew him.
All those, save his son Jonathan, that is.
"Dad, just because *you* don't care about beauty or anything else that's wonderful in the world doesn't mean that everyone is like that. Have you ever really watched the stars at night? Seen the dying sun as it catches the golden hair of a pretty girl? You don't appreciate anything but money!"
Genetics had played a wonderful trick on father and son, for both were obstinate and hard-set in their ways, each of them eyeing the other now with spirited stubborness.
"Really, son, you wound me. I certainly appreciate the finer things in life. Petrovna's caviar the other night, for example, was simply exquisite! You need to stop this mooning about and make something of yourself. Why, I'll even help you if you want it."
Jonathan sighed and shook his head. That was one of the things he hated about his father. The old man always found a way to wiggle his way into things and after he'd helped someone, he spent the next twelve parties bragging about how he'd been the one to make the man. Still, he needed his father's assistance in this, much as he hated to admit it.
"I want to start a wrestling business, something that balances great matches and exciting characters. Something that'll get people to love wrestling as much as I do. We don't have any federations here in the Great Lakes, so there's a 'void in the market just waiting to be filled'. " The last words were spat with particular venom, for the young man knew well the elder's love of business speak.
"Certainly, son! I'm glad to see you taking an interest in being an entrepreneur. I'll write you a check for $250,000. That should be enough startup capital to last you at least a year. If you need more, you can always come to me, but I'll have to charge you interest then, as it'll be a loan at that point, rather than a present from a noble father to his beloved son."
Henry's cheerful tone grated on Jonathan's nerves, but there was nothing to be done but accept it.
"Thanks, Dad" muttered Jonathan through clenched teeth.
"Not a problem, son", Henry glibly replied with a beaming smile.