'ALTHOUGH I'd lie lapped up in linen <br />A deal I'd sweat and little earn <br />If I should live as live the neighbours,' <br />Cried the beggar, Billy Byrne; <br />'Stretch bones till the daylight come <br />On great-grandfather's battered tomb.' <br />Upon a grey old battered tombstone <br />In Glendalough beside the stream <br />Where the O'Byrnes and Byrnes are buried, <br />He stretched his bones and fell in a dream <br />Of sun and moon that a good hour <br />Bellowed and pranced in the round tower; <br />Of golden king and Silver lady, <br />Bellowing up and bellowing round, <br />Till toes mastered a sweet measure, <br />Mouth mastered a sweet sound, <br />Prancing round and prancing up <br />Until they pranced upon the top. <br />That golden king and that wild lady <br />Sang till stars began to fade, <br />Hands gripped in hands, toes close together, <br />Hair spread on the wind they made; <br />That lady and that golden king <br />Could like a brace of blackbirds sing. <br />'It's certain that my luck is broken,' <br />That rambling jailbird Billy said; <br />'Before nightfall I'll pick a pocket <br />And snug it in a feather bed. <br />I cannot find the peace of home <br />On great-grandfather's battered tomb.'<br /><br />William Butler Yeats<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/under-the-round-tower/
