The Start of the Day

Soft summer rain is
A hypnotist:
I am getting sleepy, sleepy
I hear nothing but the rain
And I am sleepy at six a.m.
And at the chirp of the next bird
I will arise and go now
Into the soft morning
To the lake isle of Innisfree
And I will live alone there
In a clay hut
Without electric light
And from the doorway I will sit
In a wooden kitchen chair
That is neither soft nor comfortable
But is the only chair
At a table for one
And I will watch the soft rain
And smell the damp earth
And I will hold the gaze of a peering deer
Also waiting it out
Though neither of us minds the wet
And I will stay there
Until the last bird sings,
When I will wake up 
And return to this bed,
Soft and warm and not unfriendly to dreams.