WE have cried in our despair
That men desert,
For some trivial affair
Or noisy, insolent sport,
Beauty that we have won

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.

SWEETHEART, do not love too l
I loved long and long,
And grew to be out of fashion
Like an old song.
All through the years of our youth

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

HERE is fresh matter, poet,
Matter for old age meet;
Might of the Church and the State
Their mobs put under their feet.
O but heart’s wine shall run pure,

Whence did all that fury come?
From empty tomb or Virgin womb?
Saint Joseph thought the world wo
But liked the way his finger smelt

The light of evening, Lissadell,
Great windows open to the south,
Two girls in silk kimonos, both
Beautiful, one a gazelle.
But a raving autumn shears

WAS it the double of my dream
The woman that by me lay
Dreamed, or did we halve a dream
Under the first cold gleam of day?
I thought: ‘There is a waterfall

‘CALL down the hawk from the air
Let him be hooded or caged
Till the yellow eye has grown mild
For larder and spit are bare,
The old cook enraged,

I sing what was lost and dread wha
I walk in a battle fought over aga
My king a lost king, and lost sold
Feet to the Rising and Setting ma
They always beat on the same small