IN THE SEVEN WOODS
 
 I HAVE heard the pigeons of the Seven Woods
 Make their faint thunder, and the garden bees
 Hum in the lime-tree flowers; and put away
 The unavailing outcries and the old bitterness
 That empty the heart.  I have forgot awhile
 Tara uprooted, and new commonness
 Upon the throne and crying about the streets
 And hanging its paper flowers from post to post,
 Because it is alone of all things happy.
 I am contented, for I know that Quiet
 Wanders laughing and eating her wild heart
 Among pigeons and bees, while that Great Archer,
 Who but awaits His hour to shoot, still hangs
 A cloudy quiver over Pairc-na-lee.