Earth in beauty dressed
Awaits returning spring.
All true love must die,
Alter at the best
THE moments passed as at a play;
I had the wisdom love brings forth;
I had my share of mother-wit,
And yet for all that I could say,
I sought a theme and sought for it in vain,
I sought it daily for six weeks or so.
WHAT woman hugs her infant there?
Another star has shot an ear.
BID a strong ghost stand at the head
That my Michael may sleep sound,
Nor cry, nor turn in the bed
Till his morning meal come round;
NOR dread nor hope attend
A dying animal;
A man awaits his end
Dreading and hoping all;
FOR one throb of the artery,
While on that old grey stone I Sat
Under the old wind-broken tree,
A crazy man that found a cup,
When all but dead of thirst,
Hardly dared to wet his mouth
THERE is grey in your hair.
Young men no longer suddenly catch their breath
When you are passing;
ALTHOUGH I can see him still.
The freckled man who goes
To a grey place on a hill
In grey Connemara clothes