Poem A
The Lake Isle of Innisfree
The speaker in "Innisfree" is a solitary man experiencing an urban moment, standing on a gray pavement as his thoughts wander to a cherished island. He is filled with longing rather than making predictions. His sense of authority stems from his personal desire — "I hear it in the deep heart's core" — and the poem only expresses his own feelings, never claiming to represent anyone else.
The speaker in "The Second Coming" presents himself as an observer of shared history. He uses "I" just once, when a vision disturbs his sight, but for the rest of the poem, he makes sweeping, impersonal statements — "Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold." He comes across more as a visionary interpreting the signs of his time rather than a private individual.
"Innisfree" features three tidy quatrains that follow a steady ABAB rhyme scheme, along with a long, flowing line that evokes the sound of water. This consistent structure adds to the poem's comforting quality — it has a melody that feels like it could be hummed.
"The Second Coming" is divided into two stanzas of eight and fourteen lines, respectively, written in a rough iambic pentameter that frequently breaks its own rules. This form reflects the content: a structure that struggles to maintain its center.
The central image of "Innisfree" is the lake, with its gently lapping waters, misty mornings, and a glade buzzing with bees. This sensory memory is a cherished keepsake for the speaker, providing a personal shield against the dull roar of the city.
The central image of "The Second Coming" is the rough beast: a creature resembling a sphinx, with the body of a lion and a human head, its eyes blank and its movements sluggish as it trudges through the desert sand toward Bethlehem. This is not just a memory; it's a vision that everyone shares, whether they embrace it or not.
"Innisfree" concludes with a sense of inward reflection: the speaker acknowledges that he remains on the pavement, still within the city, yet the lake water resonates "in the deep heart's core." This ending carries a bittersweet tone—the escape may be imaginary, but the yearning is genuine and enduring.
"The Second Coming" ends with a haunting question — "And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, / Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?" — that leaves us hanging without an answer. This conclusion is unsettling and ominous, meant to leave the reader in a state of anxiety rather than providing closure.