| 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 | 5 |
| 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 | 10 |
| 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, | 15 |
| 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, | 20 |
| 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 | 25 |
| 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? | 30 |
-W. B. Yeats, 1919
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