Excerpt from The Poetical Works of William B. Yeats, Vol. 1 of 2
To some I have talked with by the fire
While I wrought out these fitful Danaan rhymes,
My heart would brim with dreams about the times
When we bent down above the fading coals;
And talked of the dark folk, who live in souls
Of passionate men, like bats in the dead trees;
And of the wayward twilight companies,
Who sigh with mingled sorrow and content,
Because their blossoming dreams have never bent
Under the fruit of evil and of good;
And of the embattled flaming multitude
Who rise, wing above wing, flame above flame,
And, like a storm, cry the Ineffable Name;
And with the clashing of their sword blades make
A rapturous music, till the morning break,
And the white hush end all things, but the beat
Of their long wings, the flash of their white feet.
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