The Wild Swans at Coole
BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS
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?
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Brought To You By,
Khabirul
Basar Tonmoy
Department of English,
Rajshahi University.
