In Memory Of John Butler Yeats
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'TO-NIGHT,' you said, 'to-night, all Ireland round
The curlews call.' The dinner-talk went on,
And I knew what you heard and what you saw,
That left you for a little while withdrawn-
The lonely land, the lonely-crying birds!
Your words, your breath is gone!
O uncaught spirit, we'll remember you
By those remote and ever-flying birds
Adown the Shannon's reach, or crying through
The mist between Clew Bay and Dublin Bay!
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