In the quiet twilight, whispers of hope arise,
Through the misty veils of time, they softly tread,
Echoes of dreams in the poet’s eyes,
Where shadows dance and fears are shed.

The emerald isle, with its ancient lore,
Cradles the seeds of a future bright,
Beneath the moon’s gentle, silver pour,
Lies the promise of a new dawn’s light.

Yeats’ words, like stars, in the night sky gleam,
Guiding hearts through the darkest night,
In every verse, a hopeful dream,
A beacon burning ever so bright.

So let us carry his vision near,
Through the storms and trials we face,
For in his poetry, hope is clear,
A timeless gift, a boundless grace.