Her Courage

    When her soul flies to the predestined dancing-place

    （I have no speech but symbol， the pagan speech I made

    Amid the dreams of youth） let her come face to face，

    Amid that first astonishment¹， with Grania's shade，

    All but the terrors of the woodland flight forgot

    That made her Diarmuid dear， and some old cardinal²

    Pacing with half-closed eyelids³ in a sunny spot

    Who had murmured of Giorgione at his latest breath-

    Aye， and Achilles， Timor， Babar， Barhaim， all

    Who have lived in joy and laughed into the face of Death.