Us who are old, old and gay, O so old! Thousands of years, thousands of years, If all were told. THE LAKE ISLE OF INNISFREE I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree, And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made: Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee, And live alone in the bee-loud glade. And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow, Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings; There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnet's wings. I will arise and go now, for always night and day I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore; While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray, I hear it in the deep heart's core. A CRADLE SONG "_Coth yani me von gilli beg, 'N heur ve thu more a creena_." The angels are stooping Above your bed; They weary of trooping With the whimpering dead. God's laughing in heaven To see you so good; The Shining Seven Are gay with His mood. I kiss you and kiss you, My pigeon, my own; Ah, how I shall miss you When you have grown. THE PITY OF LOVE A pity beyond all telling Is hid in the heart of love: The folk who are buying and selling The clouds on their journey above The cold wet winds ever blowing And the shadowy hazel grove Where mouse-gray waters are flowing Threaten the head that I love. THE SORROW OF LOVE The quarrel of the sparrows in the eaves, The full round moon and the star-laden sky, And the loud song of the ever-singing leaves, Had hid away earth's old and weary cry. And then you came with those red mournful lips, And with you came the whole of the world's tears And all the trouble of her labouring ships, And all the trouble of her myriad years. And now the sparrows warring in the eaves, The curd-pale moon, the white stars in the sky, And the loud chaunting of the unquiet leaves, Are shaken with earth's old and weary cry. WHEN YOU ARE OLD When you are old and gray and full of sleep, And nodding by the fire, take down this book, And slowly read, and dream of the soft look Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep; How many loved your moments of glad grace, And loved your beauty will love false or true; But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face. And bending down beside the glowing bars Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled And paced upon the mountains overhead And hid his face amid a crowd of stars. THE WHITE BIRDS I would that we were, my beloved, white birds on the foam of the sea! We tire of the flame of the meteor, before it can fade and flee; And the flame of the blue star of twilight, hung low on the rim of the sky, Has awaked in our hearts, my beloved, a sadness that may not die.