by
William Butler Yeats


‘Coth yani me von gilli beg,
‘N heur ve thu more a creena

The angels are bending
Above your white bed,
They weary of tending
The souls of the dead.

God smiles in high heaven
To see you so good,
The old planets seven
Grow gay with his mood.

I kiss you and kiss you,
With arms round my own,
Ah, how shall I miss you,
When, dear, you have grown.