Weary with all his poppies gathered round him
The hounds wail for the dead.
With a twinkling of ancient hands.
IN THE SEVEN WOODS
1904
The second: ‘I have thought again:
The first thin crescent is wheeled round once more.
That converse bone to bone?
Because of the great gloom that is in my mind.
Hidden from eyesight to the unnoticed end.
The Heavens in my womb.
God be with the times when I
On my cold breast?
What calculation, number, measurement, replied?
The Countess Cathleen was the name I gave it;
That much is certain. I shall find the woman,
For that she promised, and for that refused.