Page:The Wild Swans at Coole.djvu/51

 Rh They say that on your barren mountain ridge You have measured out the road that the soul treads When it has vanished from our natural eyes; That you have talked with apparitions.

Indeed My daily thoughts since the first stupor of youth Have found the path my goats' feet cannot find.

Sing, for it may be that your thoughts have plucked Some medicable herb to make our grief Less bitter.