Her Courage

    When her soul flies to the predestined dancing-place

    （I have no speech but symbol， the pagan speech I made

    Amid the dreams of youth） let her come face to face，

    Amid that first astonishment， with Grania's shade，

    All but the terrors of the woodland flight forgot

    That made her Diarmuid dear， and some old cardinal

    Pacing with half-closed eyelids in a sunny spot

    Who had murmured of Giorgione at his latest breath-

    Aye， and Achilles， Timor， Babar， Barhaim， all

    Who have lived in joy and laughed into the face of Death.