In the quiet depths of Yeats’ mind,
Where ancient dreams softly unwind,
Hope weaves its gentle, golden thread,
Amidst the words that softly spread.

A whisper carries through the night,
Guiding lost souls towards the light,
In verses where the heart can soar,
Seeking truths forevermore.

Through shadows of the past we tread,
Where dreams of peace are gently fed,
In every line, a flicker gleams,
A promise held within his dreams.

With every stanza, hope renews,
In Yeats’ words, the soul pursues,
A future bright, a world reborn,
In poetry, our spirits sworn.