Wednesday, September 25, 2013

Swans




Unwearied still, lover by lover,
They paddle in the cold
Companionable streams or climb the air;
Their hearts have not grown old;
Passion or conquest, wander where they will,
Attend upon them still.

But now they drift upon the water,
mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake's edge or pool
Delight men's eyes when I awake some day
To find they have flown away.

from The Wild Swans at Coole
William Butler Yeats


 




 




 
 
 

2 comments:

  1. I love that slightly misty last one with the feathers scattered on the water.

    ReplyDelete
  2. The two, with one head over the other ...enchanting !

    ReplyDelete