Of every Celtic poem—smiles with a palpable snigger,
While the Yellow Wolf-Hound bays his blighting curse,
And the voices of dead desires in sufferers waken,
And the voice of the limitless lake is harsh and rough,
And the voice of the reader, too, unless I'm mistaken,
Is heard to remark that he's had about enough.
But since the critics have stated with some decision
That stanzas very like these are simply grand,
Showing "a sense of beauty and intimate vision,"
Proving a "Celtic Renaissance" close at hand;