Explore "The Phases of the Moon" by W.B. Yeats on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
An old man cocked his ear upon a bridge; He and his friend, their faces to the South, Had trod the uneven road. Their boots were soiled, Their Connemara cloth worn out of shape; They had kept a steady pace as though their beds, Despite a dwindling and late risen moon, Were distant. An old man cocked his ear.
Aherne. What made that sound?