Excerpt from The Poetical Works of William B. Yeats, Vol. 1 of 2

To some I have talked with by the fire

While I wrought out these fitful Danaan rhymes,

My heart would brim with dreams about the times

When we bent down above the fading coals;

And talked of the dark folk, who live in souls

Of passionate men, like bats in the dead trees;

And of the wayward twilight companies,

Who sigh with mingled sorrow and content,

Because their blossoming dreams have never bent

Under the fruit of evil and of good;

And of the embattled flaming multitude

Who rise, wing above wing, flame above flame,

And, like a storm, cry the Ineffable Name;

And with the clashing of their sword blades make

A rapturous music, till the morning break,

And the white hush end all things, but the beat

Of their long wings, the flash of their white feet.

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