Poachers

Although each Galway wood Has been our bed Of marriage this many a year, Here come let us spread Rushes again for love, Housing from eyes outside, Where netting the sea’s live glitter Those salmon poachers hide.

Bright love, from the waters of dew I have moved to this night

Wilder in sport than poachers— Whose draw-nets gathering light Into a shivering pile, Heap treasures on the shore— While rushes net you, my treasure Isled on my rush floor.

Then what thin sign of a moon Curled in the leap Of a sea-ripened salmon, Shall tempt me out to reap That silver flowing far over Those shoals in the warm deep? While we in a breathless dark Grow empty of sleep.

So here as a poacher I'll gather Your body’s white gleam;

For too soon rushes wither And in a cold dream

Now cuckoos stir and the close night On our window has gone;

O, quickly rise up, my bright love, And quench the dawn!