The light of evening， Lissadell，
Great windows open to the south，

Two girls in silk kimonos， both

Beautiful， one a gazelle.

But a raving1 autumn shears2

Blossom from the summers wreath；

The older is condemned3 to death，

Pardoned， drags out lonely years

Conspiring4 among the ignorant.

I know not what the younger dreams

Some vague UTOPiaand she seems，

When withered5 old and skeleton-gaunt，

An image of such politics.

Many a time I think to seek

One or the other out and speak

Of that old Georgian mansion6， mix

Pictures of the mind， recall

That table and the talk of youth，

Two girls in silk kimonos， both

Beautiful， one a gazelle.

Dear shadows， now you know it all，

All the folly7 of a fight

With a common wrong or right.

The innocent and the beautiful

Have no enemy but time；

Arise and bid me strike a match

And strike another till time catch；

Should the conflagration8 climb，

Run till all the sages9 know.

We the great gazebo built，

They convicted us of guilt10；

Bid me strike a match and blow.