The Complete Works. William Butler Yeats

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      O’Driscoll drove with a song

      The wild duck and the drake

      From the tall and the tufted reeds

      Of the drear Hart Lake.

      And he saw how the reeds grew dark

      At the coming of night tide,

      And dreamed of the long dim hair

      Of Bridget his bride.

      He heard while he sang and dreamed

      A piper piping away,

      And never was piping so sad,

      And never was piping so gay.

      And he saw young men and young girls

      Who danced on a level place

      And Bridget his bride among them,

      With a sad and a gay face.

      The dancers crowded about him,

      And many a sweet thing said,

      And a young man brought him red wine

      And a young girl white bread.

      But Bridget drew him by the sleeve,

      Away from the merry bands,

      To old men playing at cards

      With a twinkling of ancient hands.

      The bread and the wine had a doom,

      For these were the host of the air;

      He sat and played in a dream

      Of her long dim hair.

      He played with the merry old men

      And thought not of evil chance,

      Until one bore Bridget his bride

      Away from the merry dance.

      He bore her away in his arms,

      The handsomest young man there,

      And his neck and his breast and his arms

      Were drowned in her long dim hair.

      O’Driscoll scattered the cards

      And out of his dream awoke:

      Old men and young men and young girls

      Were gone like a drifting smoke;

      But he heard high up in the air

      A piper piping away,

      And never was piping so sad,

      And never was piping so gay.

THE FISHERMAN

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      Although you hide in the ebb and flow

      Of the pale tide when the moon has set,

      The people of coming days will know

      About the casting out of my net,

      And how you have leaped times out of mind

      Over the little silver cords,

      And think that you were hard and unkind,

      And blame you with many bitter words.

A CRADLE SONG

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      The Danaan children laugh, in cradles of wrought gold,

      And clap their hands together, and half close their eyes,

      For they will ride the North when the ger-eagle flies,

      With heavy whitening wings, and a heart fallen cold:

      I kiss my wailing child and press it to my breast,

      And hear the narrow graves calling my child and me.

      Desolate winds that cry over the wandering sea;

      Desolate winds that hover in the flaming West;

      Desolate winds that beat the doors of Heaven, and beat

      The doors of Hell and blow there many a whimpering ghost;

      O heart the winds have shaken; the unappeasable host

      Is comelier than candles at Mother Mary’s feet.

INTO THE TWILIGHT

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      Out-worn heart, in a time out-worn,

      Come clear of the nets of wrong and right;

      Laugh, heart, again in the gray twilight,

      Sigh, heart, again in the dew of the morn.

      Your mother Eire is always young,

      Dew ever shining and twilight gray;

      Though hope fall from you and love decay,

      Burning in fires of a slanderous tongue.

      Come, heart, where hill is heaped upon hill

      For there the mystical brotherhood

      Of sun and moon and hollow and wood

      And river and stream work out their will;

      And God stands winding His lonely horn,

      And time and the world are ever in flight;

      And love is less kind than the gray twilight

      And hope is less dear than the dew of the morn.

THE SONG OF WANDERING AENGUS

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