I

        sy -

        O , O troubled    - ture,

        Decrepit age t ied to me

        As to a dogs tail?

        Never had I more

        Excited, passionate, fantastical

        Imagination, nor an ear and eye

        t more expected the impossible -

        No, not in boyh rod and fly,

        Or the humbler worm, I climbed Ben Bulbens back

        And o spend.

        It seems t I must bid the Muse go pack,

        d Plotinus for a friend

        Until imagination, ear and eye,

        be tent    and deal

        In abstract things; or be derided by

        A sort of battered kettle at the heel.

        II

        I pace upon ttlements and stare

        On tions of a house, or where

        tree, like a sooty finger, starts from th;

        And send imagination forth

        Uhe days deing beam, and call

        Images and memories

        From ruin or from arees,

        For I ion of them all.

        Beyond t ridge lived Mrs. French, and once

        ick or sce

        Lit up the wine.

        A serving-man, t could divine

        t most respected ladys every wish,

        Ran and he garden shears

        Clipped an i farmers ears

        And brougtle covered dish.

        Some feill when I was young

        A peasant girl ended by a Song,

        rocky place,

        And praised the colour of her face,

        And er joy in praising her,

        Remembering t, if walked shere,

        Farmers jostled at the fair

        So great a glory did the song fer.

        Aain men, being maddened by those rhymes,

        Or else by toasting imes,

        Rose from table and declared it right

        to test t;

        But took tness of the moon

        For t of day -

        Music s astray -

        And one    bog of e.

        Strange, but the song was blind;

        Yet, now I , I find

        t ne; tragedy began

        it was a blind man,

        And s betrayed.

        O may t seem

        One iricable beam,

        For if I triump make men mad.

        And I myself created hanrahan

        And drove he dawn

        From somewtages.

        Caught by an old mans juggleries

        umbled, tumbled, fumbled to and fro

        And    broken knees for hire

        And horrible splendour of desire;

        I t it all out ty years ago:

        Good fellows shuffled cards in an old bawn;

        And    ruffians turn was on

        chumb

        t all but the one card became

        A pack of    a pack of cards,

        And t o a hare.

        here

        And folloures towards -

        O toen w - enough!

        I must recall a man t her love

        Nor musior an enemys clipped ear

        Could, he was so harried, cheer;

        A figure t has grown so fabulous

        t a o say

        hen he finished his dogs day:

        An a bankrupt master of this house.

        Before t ruin came, for turies,

        Roug-arms, cross-gartered to the knees

        Or sairs,

        Aai-arms there were

        Memory stored,

        e ing breast

        to break upon a sleepers rest

        on the board.

        As I ion all, e all who ;

        e old, ous. ed man;

        And briys blind rambling celebrant;

        t

        through God-forsaken meadows; Mrs. French,

        Gifted h so fine an ear;

        the man drowned in a bogs mire,

        ry wench.

        Did all old men and women, rid poor,

        rod upon this door,

        rage

        As I do no old age?

        But I hose eyes

        t are impatient to be gone;

        Go t leave hanrahan,

        For I need all y memories.

        Old lech a love on every wind,

        Bring up out of t deep sidering mind

        All t you he grave,

        For it is certain t you have

        Reed up every unforeknown, unseeing

        plunge, lured by a softening eye,

        Or by a touch or a sigh,

        Into thers being;

        Does tion d

        Upon a ?

        If on t, admit you turned aside

        From a great labyrint of pride,

        Cole t

        Or anything called sce;

        And t if memory recur, the suns

        Under eclipse and tted out.

        III

        It is time t I e my will;

        I ding men

        t climb treams until

        tain leap, and at dawn

        Drop t at the side

        Of dripping stone; I declare

        t my pride,

        t were

        Bouo Cause nor to State.

        o slaves t    on,

        Nor to tyrants t spat,

        ttan

        t gave, to refuse -

        pride, like t of the morn,

        is loose,

        Or t of the fabulous horn,

        Or t of the sudden shower

        reams are dry,

        Or t of the hour

        fix his eye

        Upon a fading gleam,

        Float out upon a long

        Last reactering stream

        And t song.

        And I declare my faith:

        I mock plotinus t

        And cry in platos teeth,

        Deat

        till man made up the whole,

        Made lock, stod barrel

        Out of ter soul,

        Aye, sun and moon and star, all,

        And furto t

        t, being dead, we rise,

        Dream and so create

        translunar paradise.

        I have prepared my peace

        italian things

        And tones of Greece,

        Poets imaginings

        And memories of love,

        Memories of the words of women,

        All things whereof

        Man makes a superhuman,

        Mirror-resembling dream.

        As at there

        tter and scream,

        And drop twigs layer upon layer.

        ed up,

        t

        On top,

        And so warm .

        I leave both and pride

        to young upstanding men

        Climbing tain-side,

        t under bursting dawn

        they may drop a fly;

        Being of t metal made

        till it was broken by

        tary trade.

        Now shall I make my soul,

        pelling it to study

        In a learned school

        till the wreck of body,

        Slow decay of blood,

        testy delirium

        Or dull decrepitude,

        Or w worse evil e -

        th

        Of every brilliant eye

        t made a catch - .

        Seem but the sky

        he horizon fades;

        Or a birds sleepy cry

        Among the deepening shades.
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