written by William Butler YeatsI CALL on those that call me son,
Grandson, or great-grandson,
On uncles, aunts, great-uncles or great-aunts,
To judge what I have done.
Have I, that put it into words,
Spoilt what old loins have sent?
Eyes spiritualised by death can judge,
I cannot, but I am not content.
He that in Sligo at Drumcliff
Set up the old stone Cross,
That red-headed rector in County Down,
A good man on a horse,
Sandymount Corbets, that notable man
Old William pollexfen,
The smuggler Middleton, Butlers far back,
Half legendary men.
Infirm and aged I might stay
In some good company,
I who have always hated work,
Smiling at the sea,
Or demonstrate in my own life
What Robert Browning meant
By an old hunter talking with Gods;
But I am not content.
William Butler Yeats
written by William Butler Yeats, published on Tue 05.15.2007 at 02:20
I THINK it better that in times like these
A poet's mouth be silent, for in truth
We have no gift to set a statesman right;
written by William Butler Yeats, published on Sun 05.06.2007 at 14:39
What need you, being come to sense,
But fumble in a greasy till
And add the halfpence to the pence
written by William Butler Yeats, published on Sat 05.05.2007 at 22:11
MUCH did I rage when young,
Being by the world oppressed,
But now with flattering tongue
It speeds the parting guest.
written by William Butler Yeats, published on Thu 04.19.2007 at 07:18
I admit the briar
Entangled in my hair
Did not injure me;
My blenching and trembling,
Nothing but dissembling,
written by William Butler Yeats, published on Sat 04.14.2007 at 00:21
BLESSED be this place,
More blessed still this tower;
A bloody, arrogant power
Rose out of the race
Uttering, mastering it,
written by William Butler Yeats, published on Tue 03.13.2007 at 16:10
I ASKED if I should pray.
But the Brahmin said,
'pray for nothing, say
Every night in bed,
'I have been a king,