Cuchulain

I am losing patience, Conall--I find you stuffed with pride, The flagon full to the brim, the front door standing wide; You'd put me off with words, but the whole thing's plain enough, You are waiting for some message to bring you to war or love In that old secret country beyond the wool-white waves, Or it may be down beneath them in foam-bewildered caves Where nine forsaken sea queens fling shuttles to and fro; But beyond them, or beneath them, whether you will or no, I am going too.