STRETCH towards the moonless midnight… As though that hand could reach to where… And they but famous old upholsteries Delightful to the touch; tighten that ha… As though to draw them closer yet.

I had this thought awhile ago, ‘My darling cannot understand What I have done, or what would do In this blind bitter land.’ And I grew weary of the sun

Hidden by old age awhile In masker’s cloak and hood, Each hating what the other loved, Face to face we stood: ‘That I have met with such,’ said he,

All things uncomely and broken, All things worn-out and old, The cry of a child by the roadway, The creak of a lumbering cart, The heavy steps of the ploughman,

LOCKE sank into a swoon; The Garden died; God took the spinning-jenny Out of his side. Where got I that truth?

Some may have blamed you that you took a… The verses that could move them on the d… When, the ears being deafened, the sight… With lightning, you went from me, and I… Nothing to make a song about but kings,

I CALL on those that call me son, Grandson, or great-grandson, On uncles, aunts, great-uncles or great-… To judge what I have done. Have I, that put it into words,

I, proclaiming that there is Among birds or beasts or men One that is perfect or at peace. Danced on Cruachan’s windy plain, Upon Cro-patrick sang aloud;

O women, kneeling by your altar-rails lo… When songs I wove for my beloved hide t… And smoke from this dead heart drifts th… And covers away the smoke of myrrh and f… Bend down and pray for all that sin I w…

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