Bid a strong ghost stand at the head That my Michael may sleep sound, Nor cry, nor turn in the bed Till his morning meal come round; And may departing twilight keep All dread afar till morning's back That his mother may not lack Her fill of sleep. Bid the ghost have sword in hand: There are malicious things, although Few dream that they exist, Who have planned his murder, for they know Of some most haughty deed or thought That waits upon his future days, And would through hatred of the bays Bring that to nought. Though You can fashion everything From nothing every day, and teach The morning stars to sing, You have lacked articulate speech To tell Your simplest want, and known, Wailing upon a woman's knee, All of that worst ignominy Of flesh and bone; And when through all the town there ran The servants of Your enemy A woman and a man, Unless the Holy Writings lie, Have borne You through the smooth and rough And through the fertile and waste, Protecting till the danger past With human love. CUCHULAIN THE GIRL AND THE FOOL THE GIRL. I am jealous of the looks men turn on you For all men love your worth; and I must rage At my own image in the looking-glass That's so unlike myself that when you praise it It is as though you praise another, or even Mock me with praise of my mere opposite; And when I wake towards morn I dread myself For the heart cries that what deception wins My cruelty must keep; and so begone If you have seen that image and not my worth. CUCHULAIN. All men have praised my strength but not my worth. THE GIRL. If you are no more strength than I am beauty I will find out some cavern in the hills And live among the ancient holy men, For they at least have all men's reverence And have no need of cruelty to keep What no deception won. CUCHULAIN. I have heard them say That men have reverence for their holiness And not their worth. THE GIRL. God loves us for our worth; But what care I that long for a man's love. THE FOOL BY THE ROADSIDE. When my days that have From cradle run to grave From grave to cradle run instead; When thoughts that a fool Has wound upon a spool Are but loose thread, are but loose thread; When cradle and spool are past And I mere shade at last Coagulate of stuff Transparent like the wind, I think that I may find A faithful love, a faithful love. THE WHEEL Through winter-time we call on spring, And through the spring on summer call, And when abounding hedges sing Declare that winter's best of all; And after that there's nothing good Because the spring-time has not come-- Nor know that what disturbs our blood Is but its longing for the tomb. A NEW END FOR 'THE KING'S THRESHOLD' YOUNGEST PUPIL. Die Seanchan and proclaim the right of the poets. SEANCHAN.