C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
From The Wanderings of Oisin
By William Butler Yeats (18651939)
“O
“We think on Oscar’s pencilled urn,
And on the heroes lying slain
On Garva’s raven-covered plain:
But where are your noble kith and kin
And into what country do you ride?”
Ængus and Edain, and my name
Is Niamh, and my land where tide
And sleep drown sun and moon and star.”
To this dim shore on foam-wet feet?
Did your companions wander away
From where the birds of Ængus wing?”
“I have not yet, war-weary king,
Been spoken of with any one.
For love of Oisin foam-wet feet
Have borne me where the tempests blind
Your mortal shores till time is done.”