HE THINKS OF HIS PAST GREATNESS WHEN A PART OF THE CONSTELLATIONS OF HEAVEN
 
 I HAVE drunk ale from the Country of the Young
 And weep because I know all things now:
 I have been a hazel-tree, and they hung
 The Pilot Star and the Crooked Plough
 Among my leaves in times out of mind:
 I became a rush that horses tread:
 I became a man, a hater of the wind,
 Knowing one, out of all things, alone, that his head
 May not lie on the breast nor his lips on thc hair
 Of the woman that he loves, until he dies.
 O beast of the wilderness, bird of the air,
 Must I endure your amorous cries?