I Sat On Cushioned Otter-Skin: My Word Was Law From Ith To Emain, And Shook At Inver Amergin The Hearts Of The World-Troubling Seamen, And Drove Tumult And War Away From Girl And Boy And Man And Beast; The Fields Grew Fatter Day By Day, The Wild Fowl Of The Air Increased; And Every Ancient Ollave Said, While He Bent Down His Fading Head. "He Drives Away The Northern Cold.' I[They Will Not Hush, The Leaves A-Flutter Round Me, The Beech Leaves Old.] I Sat And Mused And Drank Sweet Wine; A Herdsman Came From Inland Valleys, Crying, The Pirates Drove His Swine To Fill Their Dark-Beaked Hollow Galleys. I Called My Battle-Breaking Men And My Loud Brazen Battle-Cars From Rolling Vale And Rivery Glen; And Under The Blinking Of The Stars Fell On The Pirates By The Deep, And Hurled Them In The Gulph Of Sleep: These Hands Won Many A Torque Of Gold. I[They Will Not Hush, The Leaves A-Flutter Round Me, The Beech Leaves Old.] But Slowly, As I Shouting Slew And Trampled In The Bubbling Mire, In My Most Secret Spirit Grew A Whirling And A Wandering Fire: I Stood: Keen Stars Above Me Shone, Around Me Shone Keen Eyes Of Men: I Laughed Aloud And Hurried On By Rocky Shore And Rushy Fen; I Laughed Because Birds Fluttered By, And Starlight Gleamed, And Clouds Flew High, And Rushes Waved And Waters Rolled. I[They Will Not Hush, The Leaves A-Flutter Round Me, The Beech Leaves Old.] And Now I Wander In The Woods When Summer Gluts The Golden Bees, Or In Autumnal Solitudes Arise The Leopard-Coloured Trees; Or When Along The Wintry Strands The Cormorants Shiver On Their Rocks; I Wander On, And Wave My Hands, And Sing, And Shake My Heavy Locks. The Grey Wolf Knows Me; By One Ear I Lead Along The Woodland Deer; The Hares Run By Me Growing Bold. I[They Will Not Hush, The Leaves A-Flutter Round Me, The Beech Leaves Old.] I Came Upon A Little Town That Slumbered In The Harvest Moon, And Passed A-Tiptoe Up And Down, Murmuring, To A Fitful Tune, How I Have Followed, Night And Day, A Tramping Of Tremendous Feet, And Saw Where This Old Tympan Lay Deserted On A Doorway Seat, And Bore It To The Woods With Me; Of Some Inhuman Misery Our Married Voices Wildly Trolled. I[They Will Not Hush, The Leaves A-Flutter Round Me, The Beech Leaves Old.] I Sang How, When Day'S Toil Is Done, Orchil Shakes Out Her Long Dark Hair That Hides Away The Dying Sun And Sheds Faint Odours Through The Air: When My Hand Passed From Wire To Wire It Quenched, With Sound Like Falling Dew The Whirling And The Wandering Fire; But Lift A Mournful Ulalu, For The Kind Wires Are Torn And Still, And I Must Wander Wood And Hill Through Summer'S Heat And Winter'S Cold. I[They Will Not Hush, The Leaves A-Flutter Round Me, The Beech Leaves Old.]