I sat on cushioned otter-skin：

    My word was law from Ith to Emain，

    And shook at Invar Amargin

    The hearts of the world-troubling seamen¹，

    And drove tumult² and war away

    From girl and boy and man and beast；

    The fields grew fatter day by day，

    The wild fowl³ of the air increased；

    And every ancient Ollave said，

    While he bent⁴ down his fading head，

    ‘He drives away the Northern cold.’

    They will not hush⁵， the leaves a-flutter round me， the beech⁶ leaves old.

    I sat and mused⁷ and drank sweet wine；

    A herdsman came from inland valleys，

    Crying， the pirates drove his swine

    To fill their dark-beaked hollow galleys⁸.

    I called my battle-breaking men

    And my loud brazen⁹ battle-cars

    From rolling vale and rivery glen；

    And under the blinking of the stars

    Fell on the pirates by the deep，

    And hurled¹⁰ them in the gulph of sleep：

    These hands won many a torque of gold.

    They will not hush， the leaves a-flutter round me， the beech leaves old.

    But slowly， as I shouting slew¹¹

    And trampled¹² in the bubbling mire¹³，

    In my most secret spirit grew

    A whirling and a wandering fire：

    I stood： keen stars above me shone，

    Around me shone keen eyes of men：

    I laughed aloud and hurried on

    By rocky shore and rushy fen¹⁴；

    I laughed because birds fluttered by，

    And starlight gleamed， and clouds flew high，

    And rushes waved and waters rolled.

    They will not hush， the leaves a-flutter round me， the beech leaves old.

    And now I wander in the woods

    When summer gluts¹⁵ the golden bees，

    Or in autumnal solitudes¹⁶

    Arise the leopard-coloured trees；

    Or when along the wintry strands¹⁷

    The cormorants¹⁸ shiver on their rocks；

    I wander on， and wave my hands，

    And sing， and shake my heavy locks.

    The grey wolf knows me； by one ear

    I lead along the woodland deer；

    The hares run by me growing bold.

    They will not hush， the leaves a-flutter round me， the beech leaves old.

    I came upon a little town

    That slumbered¹⁹ in the harvest moon，

    And passed a-tiptoe up and down，

    Murmuring， to a fitful tune²⁰，

    How I have followed， night and day，

    A tramping of tremendous feet，

    And saw where this old tympan lay

    Deserted²¹ on a doorway²² seat，

    And bore it to the woods with me；

    Of some inhuman²³ misery²⁴

    Our married voices wildly trolled.

    They will not hush， the leaves a-flutter round me， the beech leaves old.

    I sang how， when day‘s toil²⁵ is done，

    Orchil shakes out her long dark hair

    That hides away the dying sun

    And sheds faint odours through the air：

    When my hand passed from wire to wire

    It quenched²⁶， with sound like falling dew，

    The whirling and the wandering fire；

    But lift a mournful ulalu，

    For the kind wires are torn and still，

    And I must wander wood and hill

    Through summer‘s heat and winter’s cold.

    They will not hush， the leaves a-flutter round me， the beech leaves old.

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