"YOUR eyes that once were never weary of mine
Are bowed in sorrow under pendulous lids,
Because our love is waning."
And then She:
"Although our love is waning, let us stand
By the lone border of the lake once more,
Together in that hour of gentleness
When the poor tired child, passion, falls asleep.
How far away the stars seem, and how far
Is our first kiss, and ah, how old my heart!"
Pensive they paced along the faded leaves,
While slowly he whose hand held hers replied:
"Passion has often worn our wandering hearts."
The woods were round them, and the yellow leaves
Fell like faint meteors in the gloom, and once
A rabbit old and lame limped down the path;
Autumn was over him: and now they stood
On the lone border of the lake once more:
Turning, he saw that she had thrust dead leaves
Gathered in silence, dewy as her eyes,
In bosom and hair.
"Ah, do not mourn," he said,
"That we are tired, for other loves await us;
Hate on and love through unrepining hours.
Before us lies eternity; our souls
Are love, and a continual farewell."
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Comments
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Thankyou Bryden, this poems content was checked against "W.B.Yeats, selected poetry", (1991) published by the penguin group.
But if there is another version please do send us a reference to it's sorce so we can try to discover the most authentic piece.
Even publishers can occasionally get it wrong.
Andrew -
i believe the actual text was indeed 'sotrow' - no typo!!
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Thank you Mary, all corrected.
Andrew -
Yeats "Ephemera" spelling error on your part in second line: should be "sorrow" not "sotrow"
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