Why should we worry about what others think of us$$$ do we have more confidence in their opinions than we do our own?

So the platonic Year<br>Whirls out new right and wrong$$$<br>Whirls in the old instead;<br>All men are dancers and their tread<br>Goes to the barbarous clangour of a gong.

Never leave the door open at this hour$$$ or evil may come to you.

Sing$$$ for it may be that your thoughts have plucked <br>Some medicable herb to make our grief Less bitter.

The Nineteenth Century And After<br>Though the great song return no more<br>There's keen delight in what we have:<br>The rattle of pebbles on the shore<br>Under the receding wave.

[The banshee (from ban [bean]$$$ a woman$$$ and shee [sidhe]$$$ a fairy) is an attendant fairy that follows the old families$$$ and none but them$$$ and wails before a death.

The land of fairy$$$ where nobody gets old and godly and grave$$$ where nobody gets old and crafty and wise$$$ where nobody gets old and bitter of tongue.

The kings of the old time are dead;<br>The wandering earth herself may be<br>Only a sudden flaming word$$$<br>In clanging space a moment heard$$$<br>Troubling the endless reverie.

The woods of Arcady are dead$$$<br>And over it their antique joy;<br>Of old the world on dreaming fed;<br>Gray Truth is now her painted toy.

I Sing what was lost and dread what was won$$$<br>I walk in a battle fought over again.