Mian a bheith Fial
Caillfear gach a bhfónaim dó, na haoibhnis go léir,
an cholainn a d'adhain an cholainn seo, gairdín is gort,
na lilí ciúine ina seasamh sa choill,
na coillte, an cnoc, an chruinne go léir, loiscfear
an uile ní in urchóid an duine, nó éagfaidh
ina aois féin. Go dtuga an domhan dom
suan an dorchadais gan réaltaí, chun go gcuirfinn eolas
ar mo sholaisín féin a tógadh uaim isteach i síol
an túis is an deiridh, chun go sléachtfainn
roimh an mistéir, agus seasamh ar an domhan seo
mar chrann i ngort, ag imeacht gan deabhadh
gan danaid i dtreo a bhfuil le tarlú, mo bheatha,
m’ísliú sa bhféar go foighneach is le fonn.
The Wish to Be Generous
All that I serve will die, all my delights,
the flesh kindled from my flesh, garden and field,
the silent lilies standing in the woods,
the woods, the hill, the whole earth, all
will burn in man's evil, or dwindle
in its own age. Let the world bring on me
the sleep of darkness without stars, so I may know
my little light taken from me into the seed
of the beginning and the end, so I may bow
to mystery, and take my stand on the earth
like a tree in a field, passing without haste
or regret toward what will be, my life
a patient willing descent into the grass.
(The Collected Poems, 1957-1982)
