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W.B. Yeats (1865–1939). The Wild Swans at Coole. 1919.

Index of First Lines

Although I can see him still
Although I’d lie lapped up in linen
An old man cocked his ear upon a bridge
A speckled cat and a tame hare
Bald heads forgetful of their sins
Call down the hawk from the air
Cat went here and there, The
Come play with me
Dear fellow-artist, why so free
Five-and-twenty years have gone
God grant a blessing on this tower and cottage
Hands, do what you’re bid
I am worn out with dreams
I know that I shall meet my fate
I’ll say and maybe dream I have drawn content
I think it better that in times like these
I thought no more was needed
I would be ignorant as the dawn
May God be praised for woman
My dear, my dear, I know
Now that we’re almost settled in our house
One had a lovely face
On the grey rock of Cashel the mind’s eye
On the grey sand beside the shallow stream
Others because you did not keep
Sang Solomon to Sheba
She is foremost of those that I would hear praised
She might, so noble from head
Stand up and lift your hand and bless
That cry’s from the first cuckoo of the year
There is a queen in China, or maybe it’s in Spain
There is grey in your hair
This great purple butterfly
This night has been so strange that it seemed
Though logic choppers rule the town
Trees are in their autumn beauty, The
What have I earned for all that work,’ I said
When have I last looked on
With the old kindness, the old distinguished grace
Would I could cast a sail on the water