Yeats, W. B. (William Butler), 1856-1939 / 2008-06-13 00:00:00
EBOOK THE CELTIC TWILIGHT ***
Produced by Carrie Lorenz. Special thanks to John B. Hare, redactor
for this text and significant contributor to its preparation for PG.
THE CELTIC TWILIGHT
by
W. B. YEATS
Time drops in decay
Like a candle burnt out.
And the mountains and woods
Have their day, have their day;
But, kindly old rout
Of the fire-born moods,
You pass not away.
THE HOSTING OF THE SIDHE
The host is riding from Knocknarea,
And over the grave of Clooth-na-bare;
Caolte tossing his burning hair,
And Niamh calling, "Away, come away;
Empty your heart of its mortal dream.
The winds awaken, the leaves whirl round,
Our cheeks are pale, our hair is unbound,
Our breasts are heaving, our eyes are a-gleam,
Our arms are waving, our lips are apart,
And if any gaze on our rushing band,
We come between him and the deed of his hand,
We come between him and the hope of his heart.
Read more
Parts:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11