Most read ▸
All Souls' Eve
The grey air was thinning
Over the red lake,
Shading pale herons
Scarcely awake;
Until on still grasses,
On shores of cold dew,
The bright ring of sunset
More brightly grew.
Then mooring my curragh
In yew trees awhile,
I crushed through the wet dusk
Of a deep isle;
And cleaving boughs over
One moonless place,
I stood in the pale light
Of a pale face.