The Wild Swans At Coole
By William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)

I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,
And now my heart is sore.
All’s changed since I, hearing at twilight,
The first time on this shore,
The bell-beat of their wings above my head,
Trod with a lighter tread.
Unwearied still, lover By lover,
They paddle in the cold
Companionable streams or climb the air;
Their hearts have not grown old;
Passion or conquest, wander where they will,
Attend upon them still.
But now they drift on the still water,
Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake’s edge or pool
Delight men’s eyes when I awake some day
To find they have flown away?

 

 

“William Butler Yeats (1865–1939) was an Irish poet and one of the foremost figures of 20th century literature. A pillar of both the Irish and British literary establishments.” (Wikipedia)