Both years we visited Thoor Ballylee which was the summer home of William Butler Yeats and his wife.  Each visit brought a different experience. This is a tower structure which sits right on a river, so it is very prone to flooding. The tower is not open to visitors until late May. In 2004 we were able to go in for a tour! Yeats purchased Thoor Ballylee in 1917 for him and his wife, Georgie.  The tower and the grounds surrounding it are very peaceful and lush.

There are quite a few poems that he wrote while at the tower, mostly in collections called The Tower (1928) and The Winding Stair and Other Poems (1933).  We got to see this "Winding Stair" during our tour of Thoor Ballylee.  Other things we saw inside included the living areas and also an amazing view from the roof!

Yeats even wrote a brief poem that is carved into stone on Thoor Ballylee.  He wrote for specific purpose of being carved in the stone at Thoor Ballylee and it is as follows:

I, the poet William Yeats,

With old mill boards and sea-green slates,

And smithy work from the Gort forge,

Restored this tower for my wife George;

And may these characters remain

When all is ruin once again.

The photo below is of part of the actual inscription found on the tower. 

Thoor Ballylee is located just southeast of Galway.  It is also just a few miles from Lady Gregory's Coole Parke.  Lady Gregory was an important figure in Yeats' career.  This area is very visible in a lot of Yeats' poetry.  One example would be his poem  My House. 

An ancient bridge, and more ancient tower,
A farmhouse that is sheltered by its wall,
An acre of stony ground,
Where the symbolic rose can break in flower,
Old ragged elms, old thorns innumerable,
The sound of the rain or sound
Of every wind that blows;
The stilted water-hen
Crossing stream again
Scared by the splashing of a dozen cows;

A winding stair, a chamber arched with stone,
A grey stone fireplace with an open hearth,
A candle and written page.
Il Penseroso's Platonist toiled on
In some like chamber, shadowing forth
How the demonic rage
Imagined everything.
Benighted travellers
From markets and from fairs
Have seen his midnight candle glimmering.

Two men have founded here. A man-at-arms
Gathered a score of horse and spent his days
In this tumultuous spot,
Where through long wars and sudden night alarms
His dwindling score and he seemed castaways
Forgetting and forgot;
And I, that after me
My bodily heirs may find,
To exalt a lonely mind,
Befitting emblems of adversity.

From "The Collected Works of W.B. Yeats Revised 2nd Edition." Edited by Richard J. Finneran.