BLESSED be this place,
More blessed still this tower;
A bloody, arrogant power
Rose out of the race
A crazy man that found a cup,
When all but dead of thirst,
Hardly dared to wet his mouth
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,
GOD guard me from those thoughts men think
In the mind alone;
He that sings a lasting song
Thinks in a marrow-bone;
ALTHOUGH I can see him still.
The freckled man who goes
To a grey place on a hill
In grey Connemara clothes
He. Dear, I must be gone
While night Shuts the eyes
Of the household spies;
That song announces dawn.
O CLOUD-PALE eyelids, dream-dimmed eyes,
The poets labouring all their days
To build a perfect beauty in rhyme
Are overthrown by a woman's gaze
AH, that Time could touch a form
That could show what Homer's age
Bred to be a hero's wage.
Scene: A circle of Druidic stones
First Fairy: Afar from our lawn and our levee,
O sister of sorrowful gaze!