OLD MAN: What mischief brings you hither...

OLD MAN: What mischief brings you hither?

You are like those

Who are crazy for the shedding of men's blood,

And for the love of women.

YOUNG MAN: A rumour has led me,

A story told over the wine towards dawn.

I rose from table, found a boat, spread sail,

And with a lucky wind under the sail

Crossed waves that have seemed charmed, and found this shore.

OLD MAN: There is no house to sack among these hills

Nor beautiful woman to be carried off.

YOUNG MAN: You should be native here, for that rough tongue

Matches the barbarous spot. You can, it may be,

Lead me to what I seek, a well wherein

Three hazels drop their nuts and withered leaves,

And where a solitary girl keeps watch

Among grey boulders. He who drinks, they say,

Of that miraculous water lives for ever.

OLD MAN: And are there not before your eyes at the instant

Grey boulders and a solitary girl

And three stripped hazels?

YOUNG MAN: But there is no well.

OLD MAN: Can you see nothing yonder?

YOUNG MAN: I but see

A hollow among stones half-full of leaves.

OLD MAN: And do you think so great a gift is found

By no more toil than spreading out a sail,

And climbing a steep hill? 0, folly of youth,

Why should that hollow place fill up for you,

That will not fill for me? I have lain in wait

For more than fifty years, to find it empty,

Or but to find the stupid wind of the sea

Drive round the perishable leaves.

YOUNG MAN: So it seems

There is some moment when the water fills it.

OLD MAN: A secret moment that the holy shades

That dance upon the desolate mountain know,

And not a living man, and when it comes

The water has scarce splashed before it is gone.

YOUNG MAN: I will stand here and wait. Why should the luck

Of Sualtim's son desert him now? For ever

Have I had long to wait for anything.

OLD MAN: No! Go from this accursed place! This place

Belongs to me, that girl there, and those others,

Deceivers of men.

YOUNG MAN: And who are you who rail

Upon those dancers that all others bless?

OLD MAN: One whom the dancers cheat. I came like you

When young in body and in mind, and blown

By what had seemed to me a lucky sail.

The well was dry, I sat upon its edge,

I waited the miraculous flood, I waited

While the years passed and withered me away.

I have snared the birds for food and eaten grass

And drunk the rain, and neither in dark nor shine

Wandered too far away to have heard the plash,

And yet the dancers have deceived me. Thrice

I have awakened from a sudden sleep

To find the stones were wet.

YOUNG MAN: My luck is strong,

It will not leave me waiting, nor will they

That dance among the stones put me asleep;

If I grow drowsy I can pierce my foot.

OLD MAN: No, do not pierce it, for the foot is tender,

It feels pain much. But find your sail again

And leave the well to me, for it belongs

To all that's old and withered.

YOUNG MAN: No, I stay.

Citation: William Butler Yeats, At the Hawk’s Well, Public domain, 1916. Full Text.

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