That civilisation may not sink,
Its great battle lost,
Quiet the dog, tether the pony
To a distant post;
Our master Caesar is in the tent

Sang old Tom the lunatic
That sleeps under the canopy:
‘What change has put my thoughts a
And eyes that had so keen a sight?
What has turned to smoking wick

Come play with me;
Why should you run
Through the shaking tree
As though I’d a gun
To strike you dead?

I SAT on cushioned otter-skin:
My word was law from Ith to Emain
And shook at Inver Amergin
The hearts of the world-troubling
And drove tumult and war away

I WOULD be ignorant as the dawn
That has looked down
On that old queen measuring a town
With the pin of a brooch,
Or on the withered men that saw

IF Michael, leader of God’s host
When Heaven and Hell are met,
Looked down on you from Heaven’s
He would his deeds forget.
Brooding no more upon God’s wars

Poets with whom I learned my trad
Companions of the Cheshire Cheese
Here’s an old story I’ve remade,
Imagining 'twould better please
Your cars than stories now in fash

She hears me strike the board and
That she is under ban
Of all good men and women,
Being mentioned with a man
That has the worst of all bad name

Under the Great Comedian’s tomb t
A bundle of tempestuous cloud is b
About the sky; where that is clear
Brightness remains; a brighter sta
What shudders run through all that

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