The Irishman sustains himself during brief periods of joy by the knowledge that tragedy is just around the corner.

How far away the stars seem, and how far is our first kiss, and ah, how old my heart.

Farewell - farewell, For I am weary of the weight of time.

Tread softly, for you tread on my dreams

I call on those that call me son, Grandson, or great-grandson, On uncles, aunts, great-uncles or great-aunts, To judge what I have done. Have I, that put it into words, Spoilt what old loins have sent?

There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnet's wings.

How can I, that girl standing there, My attention fix On Roman or on Russian Or on Spanish politics? Yet here's a travelled man that knows What he talks about, And there's a politician That has read and thought, And maybe what they say is true Of war and war's alarms, But O that I were young again And held her in my arms!