I know of the leafy paths that the witches take, Who come with their crowns of pearl and their spindles of wool, And their secret smile, out of the depths of the lake; And of apple islands where the Danaan kind Wind and unwind their dances when the light grows cool On the island lawns, their feet where the pale foam gleams; No boughs have withered because of the wintry wind, The boughs have withered because I have told them my dreams. I know of the sleepy country, where swans fly round Coupled with golden chains and sing as they fly, A king and a queen are wandering there, and the sound Has made them so happy and hopeless, so deaf and so blind With wisdom, they wander till all the years have gone by; I know, and the curlew and peewit on Echtge of streams; No boughs have withered because of the wintry wind, The boughs have withered because I have told them my dreams. ADAM'S CURSE. We sat together at one summer's end That beautiful mild woman your close friend And you and I, and talked of poetry. I said 'a line will take us hours maybe, Yet if it does not seem a moment's thought Our stitching and unstitching has been naught. Better go down upon your marrow bones And scrub a kitchen pavement, or break stones Like an old pauper in all kinds of weather; For to articulate sweet sounds together Is to work harder than all these and yet Be thought an idler by the noisy set Of bankers, schoolmasters, and clergymen The martyrs call the world.' That woman then Murmured with her young voice, for whose mild sake There's many a one shall find out all heartache In finding that it's young and mild and low. 'There is one thing that all we women know Although we never heard of it at school, That we must labour to be beautiful.' I said, 'It's certain there is no fine thing Since Adam's fall but needs much labouring. There have been lovers who thought love should be So much compounded of high courtesy That they would sigh and quote with learned looks Precedents out of beautiful old books; Yet now it seems an idle trade enough.' We sat grown quiet at the name of love. We saw the last embers of daylight die And in the trembling blue-green of the sky A moon, worn as if it had been a shell Washed by time's waters as they rose and fell About the stars and broke in days and years. I had a thought for no one's but your ears; That you were beautiful and that I strove To love you in the old high way of love; That it had all seemed happy, and yet we'd grown As weary hearted as that hollow moon. THE SONG OF RED HANRAHAN. The old brown thorn trees break in two high over Cummen Strand Under a bitter black wind that blows from the left hand, Our courage breaks like an old tree in a black wind and dies; But we have hidden in our hearts the flame out of the eyes Of Cathleen the daughter of Houlihan.