THE WILD SWANS AT COOLE
The woodland paths are dry
Under the October twilight the water
Mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water among the stonesAre nine-and fifty swans...
I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,
And now my heart is sore.
All's changed since I, hearing at twilight,The first time on this shore,
The bell-beat of their wings above my head,
Trod with a lighter tread.
They paddle in the cold
Companiable strems or climb the air;
Their hearts have not grown old...
But now they drift on the still water,
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake's edge or pool
Delight men's eyes when I awake some day
To find they have flown away?
The swans is a collective symbol of the enigmatic
and beautiful Ireland that he purposely revive
among his people. A talented poet: he was awarded
the coveted Pulitzer prize in poetry.