Page:The Wild Swans at Coole.djvu/77

 Rh In the first loveliness of womanhood, And with the fervour of my youthful eyes, Has set me muttering like a fool.

You are more beautiful than any one, And yet your body had a flaw: Your small hands were not beautiful, And I am afraid that you will run And paddle to the wrist In that mysterious, always brimming lake Where those that have obeyed the holy law Paddle and are perfect; leave unchanged The hands that I have kissed, For old sakes' sake.

The last stroke of midnight dies. All day in the one chair