Friend of these many years, you too had stood With equal courage in that whirling rout; For you, although you've not her wandering heart, Have all that greatness, and not hers alone. For there is no high story about queens In any ancient book but tells of you, And when I've heard how they grew old and died Or fell into unhappiness I've said; 'She will grow old and die and she has wept!' And when I'd write it out anew, the words, Half crazy with the thought, She too has wept! Outrun the measure. I'd tell of that great queen Who stood amid a silence by the thorn Until two lovers came out of the air With bodies made out of soft fire. The one About whose face birds wagged their fiery wings Said, 'Aengus and his sweetheart give their thanks To Maeve and to Maeve's household, owing all In owing them the bride-bed that gives peace.' Then Maeve, 'O Aengus, Master of all lovers, A thousand years ago you held high talk With the first kings of many pillared Cruachan. O when will you grow weary.' They had vanished, But out of the dark air over her head there came A murmur of soft words and meeting lips. BAILE AND AILLINN. Argument. Baile and Aillinn were lovers, but Aengus, the Master of Love, wishing them to be happy in his own land among the dead, told to each a story of the other's death, so that their hearts were broken and they died. I hardly hear the curlew cry, Nor the grey rush when wind is high, Before my thoughts begin to run On the heir of Ulad, Buan's son, Baile who had the honey mouth, And that mild woman of the south, Aillinn, who was King Lugaid's heir. Their love was never drowned in care Of this or that thing, nor grew cold Because their bodies had grown old; Being forbid to marry on earth They blossomed to immortal mirth. About the time when Christ was born, When the long wars for the White Horn And the Brown Bull had not yet come, Young Baile Honey-Mouth, whom some Called rather Baile Little-Land, Rode out of Emain with a band Of harpers and young men, and they Imagined, as they struck the way To many pastured Muirthemne, That all things fell out happily And there, for all that fools had said, Baile and Aillinn would be wed. They found an old man running there, He had ragged long grass-yellow hair; He had knees that stuck out of his hose; He had puddle water in his shoes; He had half a cloak to keep him dry; Although he had a squirrel's eye. O wandering birds and rushy beds You put such folly in our heads With all this crying in the wind No common love is to our mind, And our poor Kate or Nan is less Than any whose unhappiness Awoke the harp strings long ago. Yet they that know all things but know That all life had to give us is A child's laughter, a woman's kiss.