Excerpt from Poems and Dramas
There has been twilight here, since one whom some name Life and some Death slid between us the little shadow that is the unfathomable dark and silence. In a grave deeper than is hollowed under the windsweet grass lies that which was so passing fair.
Who plays the Song of Songs upon the Hills of Dream? It is said Love is that reed-player, for there is no song like his.
But to-day I saw one, on these dim garths of shadow and silence, who put a reed to his lips and played a white spell of beauty. Then I knew Love and Death to be one, as in the old myth of Oengus of the White Birds and the Grey Shadows.
Here are the broken airs that once you loved...
"The fable-flowering land wherein they grew
Hath dreams for stars, and grey romance for dew."
They are but the breath of what has been: only are they for this, that they do the will of beauty and regret.
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