I have met them at close of day Hearts with one purpose alone Coming with vivid faces Through summer and winter seem From counter or desk among grey Enchanted to a stone Eighteenth-century houses. To trouble the living stream. I have passed with a nod of the head The horse that comes from the road, Or polite meaningless words, The rider, the birds that range Or have lingered awhile and said From cloud to tumbling cloud, Polite meaningless words, Minute by minute they change; And thought before I had done A shadow of cloud on the stream Of a mocking tale or a gibe Changes minute by minute; To please a companion A horse-hoof slides on the brim, Around the fire at the club, And a horse plashes within it; Being certain that they and I The long-legged moor-hens dive, But lived where motley is worn: And hens to moor-cocks call; All changed, changed utterly: Minute by minute they live: A terrible beauty is born. The stone's in the midst of all.
That woman's days were spent Too long a sacrifice
In ignorant good-will, Can make a stone of the heart. Her nights in argument O when may it suffice? Until her voice grew shrill. That is Heaven's part, our part What voice more sweet than hers To murmur name upon name, When, young and beautiful, As a mother names her child She rode to harriers? When sleep at last has come This man had kept a school On limbs that had run wild. And rode our wingèd horse; What is it but nightfall? This other his helper and friend No, no, not night but death; Was coming into his force; Was it needless death after all? He might have won fame in the end, For England may keep faith So sensitive his nature seemed, For all that is done and said. So daring and sweet his thought. We know their dream; enough This other man I had dreamed To know they dreamed and are dead; A drunken, vainglorious lout. And what if excess of love He had done most bitter wrong Bewildered them till they died? To some who are near my heart, I write it out in a verse— Yet I number him in the song; MacDonagh and MacBride He, too, has resigned his part And Connolly and Pearse In the casual comedy; Now and in time to be, He, too, has been changed in his turn, Wherever green is worn, Transformed utterly: Are changed, changed utterly: A terrible beauty is born. A terrible beauty is born.