Wild Swans at Coole

The trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water

Mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water among the stones
Are nine and fifty swans.The nineteenth Autumn has come upon me

Since I first made my count;
I saw, before I had well finished,

All suddenly mount
And scatter wheeling in great broken rings

Upon their clamorous wings.

I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,

And now my heart is sore.
All’s changed since I, hearing at twilight,
The first time on this shore,
The bell-beat of their wings above my head,

Trod with a lighter tread.

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 on the still 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?

(William Butler) Yeats

…SWANS…

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