In Memory of John Butler Yeats
‘TO-NIGHT,’ you said, ‘to-night, all Ireland round
The curlews call.’ The dinner-talk went on,
And I knew what you heard and what you saw,
That left you for a little while withdrawn–
The lonely land, the lonely-crying birds!
Your words, your breath is gone!
O uncaught spirit, we’ll remember you
By those remote and ever-flying birds
Adown the Shannon’s reach, or crying through
The mist between Clew Bay and Dublin Bay!
