An old man stirs the fire to a blaze,

In the house of a child, of a friend, of a brother;

He has over-lingered his welcome; the days,

Grown desolate, whisper and sigh to each other;

He hears the storm in the chimney above,

And bends to the fire and shakes with the cold,

While his heart still dreams of battle and love,

And the cry of the hounds on the hills of old.

–WB Yeats, The Wanderings of Oisin