Scott-Stevenson-Yeats
I would that we were, my beloved, white birds on the foam of the sea
Far from the rose and the lily, and fret of the flames would we be
And the flame of the blue star of twilight, hung low on the rim of the sky
Has awakened in our hearts, my beloved, a sadness that may never die, a sadness that may never die.
A weariness comes from those dreamers, dew-dabbled, the lily and rose
Ah, dream not of that, my beloved, the flame of the meteor that goes
Or the flame of the blue star that lingers hung low in the fall of the dew
For I would we were changed, my beloved, to white birds on the foam, I and you, to white birds on the foam, I and you.
Bend low, that I may crown you, flower of the branch
silver fish my hands have taken from the running stream,
morning star, trembling in the heavens like a white fawn on the border of a wood
Bend that I may crown you, that I may crown you.
And the flame of the blue star of twilight, hung low on the rim of the sky
Has awakened in our hearts, my beloved, a sadness that may never die, a sadness that may never die.
I am haunted by numberless islands, and many a Danaan shore
Where Time would surely forget us, and Sorrow come near us no more
Soon far from the rose and the lily and fret of the flames would we be
Were we only white birds, my beloved, white birds on the foam of the sea, white birds on the foam of the sea.