I first met Yeats
Browsing along the shelves in the poetry section.
Alpha by Author
The sign read, as I wandered along
Towards the letter Y.
And suddenly, there he was!
I tapped him on the shoulder,
Asked, "Why, indeed?"
He shrugged, and invited me
For a drink at the pub,
Over Scotch and wine
Detailing the wond'rous holy city
Isle in the water,
Where sages and oracles wise
To our question
"The boats don't travel there anymore", he said,
To this compass-defying kingdom
Southwest of the East
And perpendicular to the North Star.
"We must travel with dolphins.
They alone can show us the way."
Thus, we ventured thither
On the backs of gilded dolphins
Branded with gold of Thrace and Scythia,
With the incantations
Of long-forgotten mysteries.
There is no feeling like that
Of being engulfed by seafoam,
Fizzling like silk around the body,
So soft you don't realize how it wraps around,
Until the mass of Ocean hits
And you sink...
Along the backs of our guides
Beneath the shadows
Of continents and great empires...
They all look the same from below.
"Where are we?"
Letting my fingers trail the ocean floor,
Flurries of sand spiraling in gusts
We journey farther and farther...
I touch the crystal around my neck,
Where you reside in a streak of amethyst-gold,
And a strange melancholy wells up
In my eyes
(Though flooded with water,
They cannot cry).
When we arrive,
I shall ask about you.
For throughout this pilgrimage,
It seems your reflection materializes
In every shard of amber I find
Glimmering in the wintry gloom
Of the ocean floor.
How have we met here, again,
On this terrain of happenstance,
These fragments of your smile,
These fractured rays of the light in your eyes,
Beyond the borders of earthly seas,
A spirit dismembered
"Why, why indeed..."
And so, I have collected each one,
Caressing the rough and abstract edges
Moulded savagely by the elements
Admiring every shade
Through these prisms
Cut from your soul,
Growing warmer against my breast
As we draw nearer to Byzantium.
O Shy One,
We have flown
To that isle in the water
Following the trail of golden petals
Plucked from your mane
And strewn across worlds,
Like violets and grape leaves
Tossed in garlands
Before the city gates.
Alas, your body is far from me,
And I too must abandon mine to enter here!
My companion smiles up
At the turrets of his Great City,
Thanking our dolphins with a blessing
Before they swim away.
We enter the pearled gates
Into winding avenues
Of a world lit only by moon flames.
Up hills, past twisting domes
Of shell and seastone,
We at last behold the Temple of Fire.
Strange, to come here underwater,
Though it shines over all
With the wisdom of ages.
Kneeling, face turned away
Before the pyre of holy fire,
Pressing the wholeness of your soul to my heart
As the Oracle reads the flames...
... And I wonder
Is the wrong question, for
"Fate has a way of her own". 
And yet, how far we have come
On this strange journey, Sweetest Love,
And how far —
How beautiful! —
We have yet to go!
Oracles and unknowns:
"What matter, so there is but fire
In you, in me?" 
A ramble. Random thoughts about some poems by Yeats, a dear soul, and yeah... Just ran with it.
 = Quote excerpted from "The Satyricon" by Petronius.
 = The last two lines of Yeats' poem "The Mask".
Loreena McKennitt - "The Old Ways": https://youtu.be/J2Otz2wLaMY