A Song
I THOUGHT no more was needed / Youth to polong
The Peacock
❦
What's riches to him
That has made a great peacock
With the pride of his eye?
The wind-beaten, stone-grey,
And desolate Three Rock
Would nourish his whim.
Live he or die
Amid wet rocks and heather,
His ghost will be gay
Adding feather to feather
For the pride of his eye.
More poems by William Butler Yeats
The Old Men Admiring Themselves In The Water
I HEARD the old, old men say, / 'Everything alters,
Running To Paradise
As I came over Windy Gap / They threw a halfpenny into my cap.
The Great Day
HURRAH for revolution and more cannon-shot! / A beggar upon horseback lashes a beggar on foot.