I heard the old, old men say,
And one by one we drop away.’
They had hands like claws, and their knees
Were twisted like the old thorn-trees
By the waters.
‘All that’s beautiful drifts away
Like the waters.’
—W. B. Yeatss, “The Old Men Admiring Themselves in the Water,” In the Seven Woods: Being Poems Chiefly of the Irish Heroic Age. (Dun Emer Press 1903)