Easter, 1916

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    <stroer, 1916</strong>

    I HAVE met them at close of day

    ing with vivid faces

    From ter or desk among grey

    Eighteenth-tury houses.

    I have passed with a nod of the head

    Or polite meaningless words,

    Or have lingered awhile and said

    Polite meaningless words,

    And thought before I had done

    Of a mog tale ibe

    To please a panion

    Around the fire at the club,

    Beiain that they and I

    But lived where motley is worn:

    All ged, ged utterly:

    A terrible beauty is born.

    That womans days were spent

    In ignorant>..</a> good-will,

    Her nights in argument

    Until her voice grew shrill.

    What voice more sweet than hers

    When, young aiful,

    She rode to harriers?

    This man had kept a school

    And rode our winged horse;

    This other his helper and friend

    Was ing into his force;

    He might have won fame in the end,

    So sensitive his nature seemed,

    S and sweet his thought.

    This other man I had dreamed

    A drunken, vainglorious lout.

    He had done most bitter wrong

    To some who are near my heart,

    Yet I number him in the song;

    He, too, has resigned his part

    In the casual edy;

    He, too, has been ged in his turn,

    Transformed utterly:

    A terrib<var></var>le beauty is born.

    Hearts with one purpose alone

    Through summer and winter seem

    Ented to a stone

    To trouble the living stream.

    The horse that es from the road.

    The rider, the birds that range

    From cloud to tumbling cloud,

    Minute by mihey ge;

    A shadow of cloud oream

    ges minute by minute;

    A horse-hoof slides on the brim,

    And a horse plashes within it;

    The long-legged moor-hens dive,

    Ao moor-cocks call;

    Minute by mihey live:

    The stones in the midst of all.

    Too long a sacrifice

    make a stone of the heart.

    O when may it suffice?

    That is Heavens part, our part

    To murmur name upon name,

    As a mother names her child

    When sleep at last has e

    On limbs that had run wild.

    What is.９9ｌｉb. but nightfall?

    No, no, not night but death;

    Was it needless death after all?

    Fland may keep faith

    For all that is done and said.

    We know their dream; enough

    To know they dreamed and are dead;

    And what if excess of love

    Bewildered them till they died?

    I write it out in a verse -

    Maagh and MacBride

    And olly and Pearse

    Now and in time to be,

    Wherever green is worn,

    Are ged, ged utterly:

    A terrible beauty is born.

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