Accursed who brings to light of day the writings I have cast away.

Cast your mind on other days that we in coming days may be still the indomitable Irishry.

How far away the stars seem, and how far is our first kiss, and ah, how old my heart.

Time drops in decay,Like a candle burnt out,And the mountains and woodsHave their day, have their day;

The wind blows out of the gates of the day, The wind blows over the lonely of heart, And the lonely of heart is withered away

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths, Enwrought with golden and silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half light, I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have s