In Memory Of John Butler Yeats

"TO-NIGHT," you said, "to-night, all Ireland round

The curlews call." The dinner-talk went on,

And I knew what you heard and what you saw,

That left you for a little while withdrawn-

The lonely land, the lonely-crying birds!

Your words, your breath is gone!

O uncaught spirit, we'll remember you

By those remote and ever-flying birds

Adown the Shannon's reach, or crying through

The mist between Clew Bay and Dublin Bay!