I go to seek the starshine on the waves, To count the dewdrops on the grassy hill, I go to gather flowers that grow on graves, The worlds' wall closes round my prisoned will.
Yea, for the sake of the wild western wind The sphered spirit scorns her flame-built throne, Because of primroses, time out of mind, The Lonely turns away from the Alone.
Who once has loved the cornfield's rustling sheaves, Who once has heard the gentle Irish rain Murmur low music in the growing leaves, Though he were god, comes back to earth again.
Oh Earth! green wind-swept Eirinn, I would break The tower of my soul's initiate pride For a grey field and a star-haunted lake, And those wet winds that roam the country side.
I who have seen am glad to close my eyes, I who have soared am weary of my wings, I seek no more the secret of the wise, Safe among shadowy, unreal human things.
Blind to the gleam of those wild violet rays That burn beyond the rainbow's circle dim, Bound by dark nights and driven by pale days, The sightless slave of Time's imperious whim;
Deaf to the flowing tide of dreams divine That surge outside the closed gates of birth, The rhythms of eternity, too fine To touch with music the dull ears of earth--
I go to seek with humble care and toil The dreams I left undreamed, the deeds undone, To sow the seed and break the stubborn soil, Knowing no brightness whiter than the sun.
Content in winter if the fire burns clear And cottage walls keep out the creeping damp, Hugging the Old Illusion warm and dear, The Silence and the Wise Book and the Lamp.
He in his deepest mind That inner harmony divined That lit the soul of John And in the glad eyes shone Of Dionysos, and dwelt Where Angel Gabriel knelt Under the dark cypress spires; And thrilled with flameless fires Of Secret Wisdom's rays The Giaconda's smiling gaze; Curving with delicate care The pearls in Beatrice d'Este's hair; Hiding behind the veil Of eyelids long and pale, In the strange gentle vision dim Of the unknown Christ who smiled on him. His was no vain dream Of the things that seem, Of date and name. He overcame The Outer False with the Inner True, And overthrew The empty show and thin deceits of sex, Pale nightmares of this barren world that vex The soul of man, shaken by every breeze Too faint to stir the silver olive trees Or lift the Dryad's smallest straying tress Frozen in her clear marble loveliness.