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W. B. Yeats

W. B. Yeats

Hanrahan Reproves the Curlew

O, curlew, cry no more in the air,    
Or only to the waters in the West;    
Because your crying brings to my mind    
Passion-dimmed eyes and long heavy hair    
That was shaken out over my breast:      
There is enough evil in the crying of wind.

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While I, that reed-throated whisp… Who comes at need, although not no… A clear articulation in the air, But inwardly, surmise companions Beyond the fling of the dull ass’s…
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A MOST astonishing thing— Seventy years have I lived; (Hurrah for the flowers of Spring… For Spring is here again.) Seventy years have I lived
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