The Mask
'PUT off that mask of burning gold / With emerald eyes.'
I HEARD the old, old men say,
'Everything alters,
And one by one we drop away.'
They had hands like claws, and their knees
Were twisted like the old thorn-trees
By the waters.
I heard the old, old men say,
'All that's beautiful drifts away
Like the waters.'
'PUT off that mask of burning gold / With emerald eyes.'
What's riches to him / That has made a great peacock
IN MEMORY OF EVA GORE-BOOTH AND CON MARKIEWICZ / THE light of evening, Lissadell,
I CALL on those that call me son, / Grandson, or great-grandson,