The Author William Butler Yeats

A Cradle Song


    The Danann children laugh, in cradles of wrought gold,
    And clap their hands together, and half close their eyes,
    For they will ride the North when the ger-eagle flies,
    With heavy whitening wings, and a heart fallen cold:
    I kiss my wailing child and press it to my breast,
    And hear the narrow graves calling my child and me.
    Desolate winds that cry over the wandering sea;
    Desolate winds that hover in the flaming West;
    Desolate winds that beat the doors of Heaven, and beat
    The doors of Hell and blow there many a whimpering ghost;
    O heart the winds have shaken; the unappeasable host
    Is comelier than candles before Maurya’s feet.


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