THE VALLEY OF THE BLACK PIG
by: William Butler Yeats
(1865-1939)
 HE dews drop slowly and dreams
gather; unknown spears
- Suddenly hurtle before my dream-awakened eyes,
- And then the clash of fallen horsemen and the cries
- Of unknown perishing armies beat about my ears.
- We who still labour by the cromlech on the shore,
- The grey cairn on the hill, when day sinks drowned in dew,
- Being weary of the world's empires, bow down to you,
- Master of the still stars and of the flaming door.
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"The Valley of the Black Pig"
is reprinted from The Wind Among the Reeds. W.B. Yeats.
London: Elkin Mathews, 1899. |
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POEMS BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS |
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