Page:The Wild Swans at Coole.djvu/27

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Some burn damp fagots, others may consume The entire combustible world in one small room As though dried straw, and if we turn about The bare chimney is gone black out Because the work had finished in that flare. Soldier, scholar, horseman, he, As 'twere all life's epitome. What made us dream that he could comb grey hair?

I had thought, seeing how bitter is that wind That shakes the shutter, to have brought to mind