The Celtic Twilight

THE CELTIC TWILIGHT

by

W. B. YEATS

Time drops in decay Like a candle burnt out. And the mountains and woods Have their day, have their day; But, kindly old rout Of the fire-born moods, You pass not away.

THE HOSTING OF THE SIDHE

The host is riding from Knocknarea, And over the grave of Clooth-na-bare; Caolte tossing his burning hair, And Niamh calling, “Away, co...