Beggar To Beggar Cried

Time to put off the world and go somewhere
And find my health again in the sea air,
Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck,
And make my soul before my pate is bare.

And get a comfortable wife and house
To rid me of the devil in my shoes,
Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck,
And the worse devil that is between my thighs.

And though Id marry with a comely lass,
She need not be too comely, let it pass,
Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck,
But theres a devil in a looking-glass.

Nor should she be too rich, because the rich
Are driven by wealth as beggars by the itch,
Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck,
And cannot have a humorous happy speech.

And there Ill grow respected at my ease,
And hear amid the gardens nightly peace,
Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck,
The wind-blown clamour of the barnacle-geese.

William Butler Yeats

William Butler Yeats was an Irish poet, dramatist, prose writer, and one of the foremost figures of 20th-century literature. A pillar of both the Irish and British literary establishments, in his later years he served as an Irish Senator for two terms. Yeats was a driving force behind the Irish Literary Revival and was co-founder of the Abbey Theatre. In 1923, he was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature.

William Butler Yeats

Three Movements

William Butler Yeats, Simple Poetry

A Drinking Song

William Butler Yeats, Simple Poetry

Adam's Curse

William Butler Yeats, Simple Poetry

Owen Aherne And His Dancers

William Butler Yeats, Simple Poetry

English

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The Three Beggars

Though to my feathers in the wet,
I have stood here from break of day,
I have not found a thing to eat
For only rubbish comes my way.
Am I to live on lebeen-lone?
Muttered the old crane of Gort.
For all my pains on lebeen-lone.

King Guari walked amid his court
The palace-yard and river-side
And there to three old beggars said:
You that have wandered far and wide
Can ravel out whats in my head.
Do men who least desire get most,
Or get the most who most desire?
A beggar said: They get the most
Whom man or devil cannot tire,
And what could make their muscles taut
Unless desire had made them so.
But Guari laughed with secret thought,
If that be true as it seems true,
One of you three is a rich man,
For he shall have a thous...

William Butler Yeats

Under The Round Tower

Although Id lie lapped up in linen
A deal Id sweat and little earn
If I should live as live the neighbours,
Cried the beggar, Billy Byrne;
Stretch bones till the daylight come
On great-grandfathers battered tomb.

Upon a grey old battered tombstone
In Glendalough beside the stream,
Where the OByrnes and Byrnes are buried,
He stretched his bones and fell in a dream
Of sun and moon that a good hour
Bellowed and pranced in the round tower;

Of golden king and silver lady,
Bellowing up and bellowing round,
Till toes mastered a sweet measure,
Mouth mastered a sweet sound,
Prancing round and prancing up
Until they pranced upon the top.

That golden king and that wild lady
Sang till stars began to fade,
Hands gripped in hand...

William Butler Yeats

Running To Paradise

As I came over Windy Gap
They threw a halfpenny into my cap,
For I am running to Paradise;
And all that I need do is to wish
And somebody puts his hand in the dish
To throw me a bit of salted fish:
And there the king is but as the beggar.

My brother Mourteen is worn out
With skelping his big brawling lout,
And I am running to Paradise;
A poor life do what he can,
And though he keep a dog and a gun,
A serving maid and a serving man:
And there the king is but as the beggar.

Poor men have grown to be rich men,
And rich men grown to be poor again,
And I am running to Paradise;
And many a darling wits grown dull
That tossed a bare heel when at school,
Now it has filled an old sock full:
And there the king is but as the beggar.
...

William Butler Yeats

The Hour Before Dawn

A one-legged, one-armed, one-eyed man,
A bundle of rags upon a crutch,
Stumbled on windy Cruachan
Cursing the wind. It was as much
As the one sturdy leg could do
To keep him upright while he cursed.
He had counted, where long years ago
Queen Maeves nine Maines had been nursed,
A pair of lapwings, one old sheep,
And not a house to the plains edge,
When close to his right hand a heap
Of grey stones and a rocky ledge
Reminded him that he could make,
If he but shifted a few stones,
A shelter till the daylight broke.
But while he fumbled with the stones
They toppled over; Were it not
I have a lucky wooden shin
I had been hurt; and toppling brought
Before his eyes, where stones had been,
A dark deep hole in the rocks face.
He gave a gas...

William Butler Yeats

The Beggar And The Angel

An angel burdened with self-pity
Came out of heaven to a modern city.

He saw a beggar on the street,
Where the tides of traffic meet.

A pair of brass-bound hickory pegs
Brought him his pence instead of legs.

A murky dog by him did lie,
Poodle, in part, his ancestry.

The angel stood and thought upon
This poodle-haunted beggar man.

"My life is grown a bore," said he,
"One long round of sciamachy;

I think I'll do a little good,
By way of change from angelhood."

He drew near to the beggar grim,
And gravely thus accosted him:

"How would you like, my friend, to fly
All day through the translucent sky;

To knock at the door of the red leaven,
And even to enter the orthodox heaven?

If you w...

Duncan Campbell Scott

The Tower

SAILING TO BYZANTIUM

I

That is no country for old men. The young
In one another's arms, birds in the trees
-- Those dying generations -- at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.
An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress,
Nor is there singing school but studying
Monuments of its own magnificence;
And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium.
O sages standing in God's holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come ...

William Butler Yeats