The Wild Swans At Coole
HE trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the
Mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water among the
Are nine-and-fifty Swans.
The nineteenth autumn has come upon
Since I first made my count;
I saw, before I had well finished,
All suddenly
And scatter wheeling in great broken
Upon their clamorous wings.
I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,
And now my heart is sore.
All's changed since I, hearing at twilight,
The first time on this shore,
The bell-beat of their wings above my head,
Trod with a lighter tread.
Unwearied still, lover by lover,
They paddle in the
Companionable streams or climb the air;
Their hearts have not grown old;
Passion or conquest, wander where they will,
Attend upon them still.
But now they drift on the still water,
Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake's edge or
Delight men's eyes when I awake some
To find they have flown away?
William Butler Yeats
Other author posts
The Second Coming
Turning and turning in the widening gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
No Second Troy
HY should I blame her that she filled my With misery, or that she would of Have taught to ignorant men most violent ways, Or hurled the little streets upon the great
Lines Written In Dejection
EN have I last looked The round green eyes and the long wavering Of the dark leopards of the moon All the wild witches, those most noble ladies,
Who Goes With Fergus
HO will go drive with Fergus now, And pierce the deep wood's woven shade, And dance upon the level shore Young man, lift up your russet brow,
