wild swans at coole

THE trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water
Mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water among the stones
Are nine-and-fifty Swans.

The nineteenth autumn has come upon me
Since I first made my count;
I saw, before I had well finished,
All suddenly mount
And scatter wheeling in great broken rings
Upon their clamorous wings.

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

The Wild Swans at Coole

Her Praise

She is foremost of those that I would hear praised.
I have gone about the house, gone up and down
As a man does who has published a new book,
Or a young girl dressed out in her new gown,
And though I have turned the talk by hook or crook
Until her praise should be the uppermost theme,
A woman spoke of some new tale she had read,
A man confusedly in a half dream
As though some other name ran in his head.
She is foremost of those that I would hear praised.
I will talk no more of books or the long war
But walk by the dry thorn until I have found
Some beggar sheltering from the wind, and there
Manage the talk until her name come round.
If there be rags enough he will know her name
And be well pleased remembering it, for in the old days,
Though she had young men’s praise and old men’s blame,
Among the poor both old and young gave her praise.

W.B. Yeats
From the Wild Swans at Coole 

The Wild Swans at Coole
The trees are in their autumn beauty,    The woodland paths are dry, Under the October twilight the water    Mirrors a still sky; Upon the brimming water among the stones    Are nine-and-fifty swans. The nineteenth autumn has come upon me    Since I first made my count; I saw, before I had well finished, All suddenly mount And scatter wheeling in great broken rings    Upon their clamorous wings. 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 From: The Collected Poems of W.B. Yeats (1989)