To Yeats, When He Was Young. And Myself, As Well

When once those
Fabled tales jumped Life-like
And the twelve Gods
Sat high. The Love
Of
It
All---
Apparent. It is. Ah, it
Was and may be. All
'is'. When in forty-sixty-eighty years
Each star sent back its
Own affirmation in the Beauty of time,
Light, When you bent
Back the humidity and still
Waters….dark.
As
It
Was---
Then you
Then you, for the silvered
Streets of glittering cities,
Growing dark and clustered
Cultures, affirming. Affirming
Still, like slow-traveling
Stars from
There
It
Comes---
And when it was
All-encompassing, when it
Was Beautiful in Old-World
Heavy Brass and tarnished
Gold. When the streets were
Noisy with the clankings and rattlings
Of unbridled Humanity, close then.
Years
Past
Such---