The valley and the green knoll

I've enjoyed reading and pondering these two poems by the Irish poet, William Butler Yeats (1865--1939) ... 

THE VALLEY OF THE BLACK PIG

The dews drop slowly and dreams gather: unknown spears 

Suddenly hurtle before my dream-awakened eyes, 

And then the clash of fallen horsemen and the cries 

Of unknown perishing armies beat about my ears. 

We who still labour by the cromlech on the shore, 

The grey cairn on the hill, when day sinks drowned in dew, 

Being weary of the world's empires, bow down to you, 

Master of the still stars and of the flaming door.

Here is a brief analysis. 

THE LOVER TELLS OF THE ROSE IN HIS HEART 

All things uncomely and broken, all things worn out and old, 

The cry of a child by the roadway, the creak of a lumbering cart, 

The heavy steps of the ploughman, splashing the wintry mould, 

Are wronging your image that blossoms a rose in the deeps of my heart. 

The wrong of unshapely things is a wrong too great to be told; 

I hunger to build them anew and sit on a green knoll apart, 

With the earth and the sky and the water, remade, like a casket of gold 

For my dreams of your image that blossoms a rose in the deeps of my heart.

Here is a brief analysis. 

-- Taken from The Complete Works of William Butler Yeats (Vol. 1-8).