The Wild Swans at Coole
The trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodland paths
are dry.
Under the October
twilight the water
Mirrors a still
sky;
Upon the brimming
water among the stones
Are nine-and-fifty
swans.
The nineteenth
autumn has come upon me
Since I first made
my count ;
I saw, before I
had well finished,
All suddenly mount
And scatter
wheeling in great broken rings
Upon their
clamorous wings.
I have looked upon
those brilliant creatures,
And now my heart
is sore.
All’s changed
since I, hearing at twilight,
The first time on
this shore,
The bell-beat of
their wings above my head,
Trod with a
lighter tread.
Unwearied still,
lover by lover,
They paddle in the
cold
Companionable streams
or climb the air ;
Their hearts have
not grown old ;
Passion or
conquest, wander where they will,
Attend upon them
still.
But now they drift
on the still water,
Mysterious,
beautiful ;
Among what rushes
will they build,
By what lake's
edge or pool
Delight men's eyes
when I awake some day
To find they have
flown away ?