| Was it the double of my dream |
| The woman that by me lay |
| Dreamed, or did we halve a dream |
| Under
the first cold gleam of day? |
|
|
|
|
| I thought: ‘There is a waterfall |
| Upon Ben Bulben side |
| That all my childhood
counted dear; |
| Were I to travel far and wide |
| I could not find a thing so dear.’ |
| My memories had magnified |
| So many times childish delight. |
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|
|
|
| I would have touched it like a child |
| But knew my finger could but have
touched |
| Cold stone and water. I grew wild |
| Even accusing Heaven because |
| It had set down among its
laws: |
| Nothing that we love over-much |
| Is ponderable to our touch. |
|
|
|
|
| I dreamed towards break of day, |
| The
cold blown spray in my nostril. |
| But she that beside me lay |
| Had watched in bitterer sleep |
| The marvellous
stag of Arthur, |
| That lofty white stag, leap |
| From mountain steep to steep. |