He stood among a crowd at Drumahair; |
His heart hung all upon a silken dress, |
And he had known at
last some tenderness, |
Before earth took him to her stony care; |
But when a man poured fish into a pile, |
It seemed they raised their little silver heads, |
And sang what gold morning or evening sheds |
Upon a
woven world-forgotten isle |
Where people love beside the ravelled seas; |
That Time can never mar a
lovers vows |
Under that woven changeless roof of boughs: |
The singing shook him out of his new ease. |
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He wandered by the sands of Lissadell; |
His mind ran all on money cares and fears, |
And he had known
at last some prudent years |
Before they heaped his grave under the hill; |
But while he passed before
a plashy place, |
A lug-worm with its grey and muddy mouth |
Sang that somewhere to north or west or
south |
There dwelt a gay, exulting, gentle race |
Under the golden or the silver skies; |
That if a dancer
stayed his hungry foot |
It seemed the sun and moon were in the fruit: |
And at that singing he was no
more wise. |
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He mused beside the well of Scanavin, |
He mused upon his mockers: without fail |
His sudden
vengeance were a country tale, |
When earthy night had drunk his body in; |
But one small knot-grass
growing by the pool |
Sang whereunnecessary cruel voice |
Old silence bids its chosen race rejoice, |
Whatever ravelled waters rise and fall |
Or stormy silver fret the gold of day, |
And midnight there enfold
them like a fleece |
And lover there by lover be at peace. |
The tale drove his fine angry mood away. |
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He
slept under the hill of Lugnagall; |
And might have known at last unhaunted sleep |
Under that cold and
vapour-turbaned steep, |
Now that the earth had taken man and all: |
Did not the worms that spired about
his bones |
Proclaim with that unwearied, reedy cry |
That God has laid His fingers on the sky, |
That from
those fingers glittering summer runs |
Upon the dancer by the dreamless wave. |
Why should those lovers
that no lovers miss |
Dream, until God burn Nature with a kiss? |
The man has found no comfort in the
grave. |