The Wild Swans at Coole The trees are in their autumn beauty, The woodland paths are dry, Under the leaves the forking sky Is blue and deep. The swans are gone.

The Queen of Heaven’s living image Has blazoned her bell on a chestnut tree, And a country beast, where a lonely road Frays to a lake, birds’ feet outline;

In the gloom of a hundred rain, I stood as the swans went flying; They have gone, and by their fleecy down, In the night, they are in golden flight.

• William Butler Yeats