The woodland paths are dry
Under October twilight the water
Mirrors a still sky
Upon the brimming water among the stones
Are nine-and-fifty swans
The Autumn has come upon me
Since I first made my count
I saw, before I had well finished
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
The bell-beat of their wings above my head
Trod with a lighter tread
Unwearied still, lover by lover
They paddle in the cold
Companionable streams or climb the air
Their hearts have not grown old
Pa**ion or conquest, wander where they will
Attend upon them still
But now they drift on the still water
Mysterious, beautiful
Among what rushes will they build
Delight men's eyes, when I awake some day
To find they have flown away?
William Butler Yeats