A crazy man that found a cup, When all but dead of thirst, Hardly dared to wet his mouth Imagining, moon-accursed, That another mouthful

FIVE-AND-TWENTY years have gone Since old William Pollexfen Laid his strong bones down in death By his wife Elizabeth In the grey stone tomb he made.

There was a man whom Sorrow named his F… And he, of his high comrade Sorrow drea… Went walking with slow steps along the g… And humming Sands, where windy surges w… And he called loudly to the stars to ben…

From pleasure of the bed, Dull as a worm, His rod and its butting head Limp as a worm, His spirit that has fled

ROSE of all Roses, Rose of all the Wo… The tall thought-woven sails, that flap… Above the tide of hours, trouble the air… And God’s bell buoyed to be the water’s… While hushed from fear, or loud with hop…

I TURN round Like a dumb beast in a show. Neither know what I am Nor where I go, My language beaten

The true faith discovered was When painted panel, statuary. Glass-mosaic, window-glass, Amended what was told awry By some peasant gospeller;

Kusta Ben Luka is my name, I write To Abd Al-Rabban; fellow-roysterer onc… Now the good Caliph’s learned Treasurer… And for no ear but his. Carry this letter

(Song from an Unfinished Play) My mother dandled me and sang, ‘How young it is, how young!’ And made a golden cradle That on a willow swung.

Through winter-time we call on spring, And through the spring on summer call, And when abounding hedges ring Declare that winter’s best of all; And after that there’s nothing good

ONE had a lovely face, And two or three had charm, But charm and face were in vain Because the mountain grass Cannot but keep the form

AROUND me the images of thirty years: An ambush; pilgrims at the water-side; Casement upon trial, half hidden by the… Guarded; Griffith staring in hysterical… Kevin O’Higgins’ countenance that wears

THE dews drop slowly and dreams gather:… Suddenly hurtle before my dream-awakened… And then the clash of fallen horsemen an… Of unknown perishing armies beat about m… We who still labour by the cromlech on t…