I kiss you and kiss you, With arms around my own, Ah, how shall I miss you, When, dear, you have grown.

THOUGH you are in your shining days, Voices among the crowd And new friends busy with your praise, Be not unkind or proud, But think about old friends the most: Time's bitter flood will rise, Your beauty perish and be lost For all eyes but these eyes.

The unpurged images of day recede; The Emperor's drunken soldiery are abed; Night resonance recedes, night-walkers' song After great cathedral gong.

My father was an angry and impatient teacher and flung the reading book at my head.

Because I helped to wind the clock, I come to hear it strike.

Education is not filling

Fairies in Ireland are sometimes as big as we are, sometimes bigger, and sometimes, as I have been told, about three feet high.