Page:Yeats Responsibilities 1916.djvu/20

4 If books speak truth in Slievenamon, But let that be, the gods were still And sleepy, having had their meal, And smoky torches made a glare On painted pillars, on a deal Of fiddles and of flutes hung there By the ancient holy hands that brought them From murmuring Murias, on cups&mdash; Old Goban hammered them and wrought them, And put his pattern round their tops To hold the wine they buy of him. But from the juice that made them wise All those had lifted up the dim Imaginations of their eyes, For one that was like woman made Before their sleepy eyelids ran And trembling with her passion said, 'Come out and dig for a dead man, Who's burrowing somewhere in the ground,