To Ireland in the Coming Times

 Know， that I would accounted be

    True brother of a company

    That sang， to sweeten Ireland‘s wrong，

    Ballad¹ and story， rann and song；

    Nor be I any less of them，

    Because the red-rose-bordered hem²

    Of her， whose history began

    Before God made the angelic clan³，

    Trails all about the written page.

    When Time began to rant⁴ and rage

    The measure of her flying feet

    Made Ireland‘s heart begin to beat；

    And Time bade all his candles flare⁵

    To light a measure here and there；

    And may the thoughts of Ireland brood

    Upon a measured quietude.

    Nor may I less be counted one

    With Davis， Mangan， Ferguson，

    Because， to him who ponders well，

    My rhymes more than their rhyming tell

    Of things discovered in the deep，

    Where only body‘s laid asleep.

    For the elemental creatures go

    About my table to and fro，

    That hurry from unmeasured mind

    To rant and rage in flood and wind；

    Yet he who treads in measured ways

    May surely barter⁶ gaze for gaze.

    Man ever journeys on with them

    After the red-rose-bordered hem.

    Ah， faeries， dancing under the moon，

    A Druid land， a Druid tune⁷！

    While still I may， I write for you

    The love I lived， the dream I knew.

    From our birthday， until we die，

    Is but the winking⁸ of an eye；

    And we， our singing and our love，

    What measurer Time has lit above，

    And all benighted⁹ things that go

    About my table to and fro，

    Are passing on to where may be，

    In truth‘s consuming ecstasy¹⁰，

    No place for love and dream at all；

    For God goes by with white footfall.

    I cast my heart into my rhymes，

    That you， in the dim coming times，

    May know how my heart went with them

    After the red-rose-bordered hem.