Cast your mind on other days that we in coming days may be still the indomitable Irishry.

I am content to live it all again And yet again, if it be life to pitch Into the frog-spawn of a blind man's ditch.

Sometimes my feet are tired and my hands are quiet, but there is no quiet in my heart.

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

It's certain that fine women eat A crazy salad with their meat.

What can I but enumerate old themes?

Who mocks at music mocks at love.