The Wild Swans at Coole (by William Butler Yeats)

The trees are in their autumn beauty

The woodland paths are dry

Under the October twilight the water

Mirrors a still sky

Upon the brimming water among the stones

Are nine-and-fifty swans

The nineteenth autumn has come upon me

Since I first made my count

I saw, before I had well finished

All suddenly mount

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 first time on this shore

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

Passion 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

By what lake's edge or pool

Delight men's eyes when I awake some day

To find they have flown away?