A DOLL in the doll-maker’s house
Looks at the cradle and bawls:
‘That is an insult to us.’
But the oldest of all the dolls,
Who had seen, being kept for show,

On Cruachan’s plain slept he
That must sing in a rhyme
What most could shake his soul:
‘The stallion Eternity
Mounted the mare of Time,

What lively lad most pleasured me
Of all that with me lay?
I answer that I gave my soul
And loved in misery,
But had great pleasure with a lad

THERE’S many a strong farmer
Whose heart would break in two,
If he could see the townland
That we are riding to;
Boughs have their fruit and blosso

WHY should not old men be mad?
Some have known a likely lad
That had a sound fly-fisher’s wris
Turn to a drunken journalist;
A girl that knew all Dante once

SADDLE and ride, I heard a man
Out of Ben Bulben and Knocknarea
i{What says the Clock in the Grea
All those tragic characters ride
But turn from Rosses’ crawling ti

‘She will change,’ I cried.
‘Into a withered crone.’
The heart in my side,
That so still had lain,
In noble rage replied

ALTHOUGH you hide in the ebb a
Of the pale tide when the moon has
The people of coming days will kno
About the casting out of my net,
And how you have leaped times out

An acre of green grass
For air and exercise,
Now strength of body goes;
Midnight, an old house
Where nothing stirs but a mouse.

Thought, in that scale of his:
Why should I be dismayed
Though flame had burned the whole
World, as it were a coal,
Now I have seen it weighed