I went out alone To sing a song or two, My fancy on a man, And you know who. Another came in sight

Many ingenious lovely things are gone That seemed sheer miracle to the multitu… protected from the circle of the moon That pitches common things about. Ther… Amid the ornamental bronze and stone

I HAVE heard the pigeons of the Seven… Make their faint thunder, and the garden… Hum in the lime-tree flowers; and put aw… The unavailing outcries and the old bitt… That empty the heart. I have forgot awh…

PYTHAGORAS planned it. Why did the… His numbers, though they moved or seemed… In marble or in bronze, lacked character… But boys and girls, pale from the imagin… Of solitary beds, knew what they were,

First Love THOUGH nurtured like the sailing moon In beauty’s murderous brood, She walked awhile and blushed awhile And on my pathway stood

BELOVED, gaze in thine own heart, The holy tree is growing there; From joy the holy branches start, And all the trembling flowers they bear. The changing colours of its fruit

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

KNOW, that I would accounted be True brother of a company That sang, to sweeten Ireland’s wrong, Ballad and story, rann and song; Nor be I any less of them,

The island dreams under the dawn And great boughs drop tranquillity; The peahens dance on a smooth lawn, A parrot sways upon a tree, Raging at his own image in the enamelled…

HERE at right of the entrance this bro… Human, superhuman, a bird’s round eye, Everything else withered and mummy-dead. What great tomb-haunter sweeps the dista… (Something may linger there though all e…

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths, Enwrought with golden and silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half-light, I would spread the cloths under your fee…

THE GYRES! the gyres! Old Rocky Fac… Things thought too long can be no longer… For beauty dies of beauty, worth of wort… And ancient lineaments are blotted out. Irrational streams of blood are staining…

FOR certain minutes at the least That crafty demon and that loud beast That plague me day and night Ran out of my sight; Though I had long perned in the gyre,

‘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,