“He saw the black water and the declining sun and the swan dipping down, its white wings flashing, and slowing and slowing till silver ripples carried it home. It was a scene which seemed the heart of this land. The lowing sun and the one star waking, white wings on a black water, and the smell of rain, and the long lane fading where a voice comes in the falling night.--Ireland, said Scrotes.--Yes, this is Ireland.”

“THE WEEPING WILLOWFlowing was the watershowing in its mirror the willow trees.The weeping willows in the water were washing their hair!Striking the willows with their sparkling, bare swordsthe red horsemen were running to where the sun sets!Suddenlylike a bird as if struck in the winga wounded horseman rolled down from his horse!He didn't shout,he did'nt call back those who go along,he just looked with brimming eyes at the shining horseshoes of departing riders!O what a pity! What a pity for him thatno more he shall lie on the foaming necks of galloping horses,no more he shall play his sword behind the white armies!The sounds of the horseshoes fades away slowly,the horsemen vanish at where the sun sets! Horsemen horsemen red horsemen,their horses winged with wind! Their horses winged with...Their horses winged...Their horses...Horse... Life has passed like the wind winged horsemen!The voice of the flowing water ceased.The shadows shadowed the colours wiped off.Black coverings came down over his blue eyes,the weeping willows hung down over his yellow hair!Weep not weeping willow weep not,in the mirror of the black water clasp not your hands! clasp not your hands! weep not!”

“Shiroyama’s heart stops. The earth’s pulse beats against his ear. An inch away is a go clamshell stone, perfect and smooth … … a black butterfly lands on the white stone, and unfolds its wings.”

“I have seen them riding seaward on the waves Combing the white hair of the waves blown back When the wind blows the water white and black. We have lingered in the chambers of the sea By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown Till human voices wake us, and we drown.”

“How many dawns, chill from his rippling restThe seagull’s wings shall dip and pivot him,Shedding white rings of tumult, building highOver the chained bay waters Liberty—Then, with inviolate curve, forsake our eyes As apparitional as sails that crossSome page of figures to be filed away;—Till elevators drop us from our day ...”

“Did you too see it, drifting, all night, on the black river?Did you see it in the morning, rising into the silvery air -An armful of white blossoms,A perfect commotion of silk and linen as it leanedinto the bondage of its wings; a snowbank, a bank of lilies,Biting the air with its black beak?Did you hear it, fluting and whistlingA shrill dark music - like the rain pelting the trees - like a waterfallKnifing down the black ledges?And did you see it, finally, just under the clouds -A white cross Streaming across the sky, its feetLike black leaves, its wings Like the stretching light of the river?And did you feel it, in your heart, how it pertained to everything?And have you too finally figured out what beauty is for?And have you changed your life?”