Speech after long silence; it is r
All other lovers being estranged o
Unfriendly lamplight hid under its
The curtains drawn upon unfriendly
That we descant and yet again desc

Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That’s all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,

Once more the storm is howling, an
Under this cradle—hood and coverli
My child sleeps on. There is no
But Gregory’s wood and one bare h
Whereby the haystack—and roof—leve

We sat together at one summer’s en
That beautiful mild woman, your cl
And you and I, and talked of poet
I said, ‘A line will take us hour
Yet if it does not seem a moment’s

I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate
Those that I guard I do not love;
My country is Kiltartan Cross,

I have met them at close of day
Coming with vivid faces
From counter or desk among grey
Eighteenth-century houses.
I have passed with a nod of the he

A sudden blow: the great wings bea
Above the staggering girl, her thi
By the dark webs, her nape caught
He holds her helpless breast upon
How can those terrified vague fing

Never give all the heart, for love
Will hardly seem worth thinking of
To passionate women if it seem
Certain, and they never dream
That it fades out from kiss to kis

That is no country for old men. T
In one another’s arms, birds in th
—Those dying generations—at their
The salmon—falls, the mackerel—cro
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all

Although I can see him still,
The freckled man who goes
To a grey place on a hill
In grey Connemara clothes
At dawn to cast his flies,

O what to me the little room
That was brimmed up with prayer an
He bade me out into the gloom,
And my breast lies upon his breast
O what to me my mother’s care,

(Song from an Unfinished Play)
My mother dandled me and sang,
‘How young it is, how young!’
And made a golden cradle
That on a willow swung.

Who will go drive with Fergus now
And pierce the deep wood’s woven s
And dance upon the level shore?
Young man, lift up your russet bro
And lift your tender eyelids, maid

When you are old and grey and full
And nodding by the fire, take down
And slowly read, and dream of the
Your eyes had once, and of their s
How many loved your moments of gla

I whispered, “I am too young,”
And then, “I am old enough”;
Wherefore I threw a penny
To find out if I might love.
“Go and love, go and love, young m

The trees are in their autumn beau
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the wa
Mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water among the

What shall I do with this absurdi
O heart, O troubled heart—this ca
Decrepit age that has been tied to
As to a dog’s tail?
Never had I more

Where dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water rats;

The quarrel of the sparrows in the
The full round moon and the star—l
And the loud song of the ever—sing
Had hid away earth’s old and weary
And then you came with those red m

I THOUGHT of your beauty, and
Made out of a wild thought, is in
There’s no man may look upon her,
As when newly grown to be a woman,
Tall and noble but with face and b

“PUT off that mask of burning gol
With emerald eyes.”
“O no, my dear, you make so bold
To find if hearts be wild and wise
And yet not cold.”

Though leaves are many, the root i
Through all the lying days of my y
I swayed my leaves and flowers in
Now I may wither into the truth.

Come let us mock at the great
That had such burdens on the mind
And toiled so hard and late
To leave some monument behind,
Nor thought of the levelling wind.

MANY ingenious lovely things are
That seemed sheer miracle to the m
protected from the circle of the m
That pitches common things about.
Amid the ornamental bronze and sto

When Loie Fuller’s Chinese dance
A shining web, a floating ribbon o
It seemed that a dragon of air
Had fallen among dancers, had whir
Or hurried them off on its own fur

Some moralist or mythological poet
Compares the solitary soul to a sw
I am satisfied with that,
Satisfied if a troubled mirror sho
Before that brief gleam of its lif

We, who seven years ago
Talked of honour and of truth,
Shriek with pleasure if we show
The weasel’s twist, the weasel’s t

Violence upon the roads: violence
Some few have handsome riders, are
On delicate sensitive ear or tossi
But wearied running round and roun
All break and vanish, and evil gat

I SAY that Roger Casement
Did what he had to do.
He died upon the gallows,
But that is nothing new.
Afraid they might be beaten

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cl
Enwrought with golden and silver l
The blue and the dim and the dark
Of night and light and the half—li
I would spread the cloths under yo

I will arise and go now, and go to
And a small cabin build there, of
Nine bean-rows will I have there,
And live alone in the bee-loud gla
And I shall have some peace there

I rise in the dawn, and I kneel a
Till the seed of the fire flicker
And then I must scrub and bake an
Till stars are beginning to blink
And the young lie long and dream i

THERE is grey in your hair.
Young men no longer suddenly catch
When you are passing;
But maybe some old gaffer mutters
Because it was your prayer

The jester walked in the garden:
The garden had fallen still;
He bade his soul rise upward
And stand on her window—sill.
It rose in a straight blue garment