Although I can see him still Although I’d lie lapped up in linen An old man cocked his ear upon a bridge A speckled cat and a tame hare Bald heads forgetful of their sins Call down the hawk from the air Cat went here and there, The Come play with me Dear fellow-artist, why so free Five-and-twenty years have gone God grant a blessing on this tower and cottage Hands, do what you’re bid I am worn out with dreams I know that I shall meet my fate I’ll say and maybe dream I have drawn content I think it better that in times like these I thought no more was needed I would be ignorant as the dawn May God be praised for woman My dear, my dear, I know Now that we’re almost settled in our house One had a lovely face On the grey rock of Cashel the mind’s eye On the grey sand beside the shallow stream Others because you did not keep Sang Solomon to Sheba She is foremost of those that I would hear praised She might, so noble from head Stand up and lift your hand and bless That cry’s from the first cuckoo of the year There is a queen in China, or maybe it’s in Spain There is grey in your hair This great purple butterfly This night has been so strange that it seemed Though logic choppers rule the town Trees are in their autumn beauty, The What have I earned for all that work,’ I said When have I last looked on With the old kindness, the old distinguished grace Would I could cast a sail on the water
