INTO THE TWILIGHT
Out-worn heart, in a time
out-worn,
Come clear of the nets of
wrong and right;
Laugh, heart, again in the
grey twilight,
Sigh, heart, again in the dew
of the morn.
Your mother Eire is aways
young,
Dew ever shining and twilight
grey;
Though hope fall from you and
love decay,
Burning in fires of a
slanderous tongue.
Come, heart, where hill is
heaped upon hill:
For there the mystical
brotherhood
Of sun and moon and hollow
and wood
And river and stream work out
their will;
And God stands winding His
lonely horn,
And time and the world are
ever in flight;
And love is less kind than
the grey twilight,
And hope is less dear than
the dew of the morn.
W.
B. Yeats
