Page:The Wild Swans at Coole.djvu/93

 Rh All but the perils of the woodland flight forgot That made her Dermuid dear, and some old cardinal Pacing with half-closed eyelids in a sunny spot Who had murmured of Giorgione at his latest breath— Aye, and Achilles, Timor, Babar, Barhaim, all Who have lived in joy and laughed into the face of Death.

Pardon, great enemy, Without an angry thought We've carried in our tree, And here and there have bought Till all the boughs are gay, And she may look from the bed