Tom ORoughley

Though logic choppers rule the town,
And every man and maid and boy
Has marked a distant object down,
An aimless joy is a pure joy,
Or so did Tom ORoughley say
That saw the surges running by,
And wisdom is a butterfly
And not a gloomy bird of prey.

If little planned is little sinned
But little need the grave distress.
Whats dying but a second wind?
How but in zigzag wantonness
Could trumpeter Michael be so brave?
Or something of that sort he said,
And if my dearest friend were dead
Id dance a measure on his grave.

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

A Woman Homer sung

William Butler Yeats, Simple Poetry

Who Goes With Fergus?

William Butler Yeats, Simple Poetry

To A Wealthy Man

William Butler Yeats, Simple Poetry

From A Full Moon In March

William Butler Yeats, Simple Poetry

English

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In Memory of Major Robert Gregory

I

Now that we're almost settled in our house
I'll name the friends that cannot sup with us
Beside a fire of turf in th' ancient tower,
And having talked to some late hour
Climb up the narrow winding stair to bed:
Discoverers of forgotten truth
Or mere companions of my youth,
All, all are in my thoughts to-night being dead.

II

Always we'd have the new friend meet the old
And we are hurt if either friend seem cold,
And there is salt to lengthen out the smart
In the affections of our heart,
And quarrels are blown up upon that head;
But not a friend that I would bring
This night can set us quarrelling,
For all that come into my mind are dead.

III

Lionel Johnson comes the first to mind,
That loved his learning bette...

William Butler Yeats

September 1913

What need you, being come to sense,
But fumble in a greasy till
And add the halfpence to the pence
And prayer to shivering prayer, until
You have dried the marrow from the bone;
For men were born to pray and save:
Romantic Irelands dead and gone,
Its with OLeary in the grave.

Yet they were of a different kind
The names that stilled your childish play,
They have gone about the world like wind,
But little time had they to pray
For whom the hangmans rope was spun,
And what, God help us, could they save:
Romantic Irelands dead and gone,
Its with OLeary in the grave.

Was it for this the wild geese spread
The grey wing upon every tide;
For this that all that blood was shed,
For this Edward Fitzgerald died,
And Robert Emmet and ...

William Butler Yeats

Under Ben Bulben

I

Swear by what the sages spoke
Round the Mareotic Lake
That the Witch of Atlas knew,
Spoke and set the cocks a-crow.

Swear by those horsemen, by those women
Complexion and form prove superhuman,
That pale, long-visaged company
That air in immortality
Completeness of their passions won;
Now they ride the wintry dawn
Where Ben Bulben sets the scene.

Here s the gist of what they mean.


II

Many times man lives and dies
Between his two eternities,
That of race and that of soul,
And ancient Ireland knew it all.
Whether man die in his bed
Or the rifle knocks him dead,
A brief parting from those dear
Is the worst man has to fear.
Though grave-diggers' toil is long,
Sharp their spades, their muscles...

William Butler Yeats

Three Marching Songs

Remember all those renowned generations,
They left their bodies to fatten the wolves,
They left their homesteads to fatten the foxes,
Fled to far countries, or sheltered themselves
In cavern, crevice, or hole,
Defending Ireland's soul.
i(Be still, be still, what can be said?
My father sang that song,
But time amends old wrong,
All that is finished, let it fade.)
Remember all those renowned generations,
Remember all that have sunk in their blood,
Remember all that have died on the scaffold,
Remember all that have fled, that have stood,
Stood, took death like a tune
On an old,tambourine.
i(Be still, be still, what can be said?
My father sang that song,
But time amends old wrong,
And all that's finished, let it fade.)
Fail, and that history tu...

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

Three Songs To The Same Tune

I

Grandfather sang it under the gallows:
" Hear, gentlemen, ladies, and all mankind:
Money is good and a girl might be better.
But good strong blows are delights to the mind."
There, standing on the cart,
He sang it from his heart.
i(Those fanatics all that we do would undo;)
i(Down the fanatic, down the clown;)
i(Down, down, hammer them down,)
i(Down to the tune of O'Donnell Abu.)
"A girl I had, but she followed another,
Money I had, and it went in the night,
Strong drink I had, and it brought me to sorrow,
But a good strong cause and blows are delight."
All there caught up the tune:
"On, on, my darling man".
i(Those fanatics all that we do would undo;)
i(Down the fanatic, down the clown;)
i(Down, down, hammer them down,)
i(Down to t...

William Butler Yeats

Tom ORoughley

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Tom ORoughley