William Butler Yeats

(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939 / County Dublin / Ireland)

A Man Young And Old: Vi. His Memories - Poem by William Butler Yeats

We should be hidden from their eyes,
Being but holy shows
And bodies broken like a thorn
Whereon the bleak north blows,
To think of buried Hector
And that none living knows.

The women take so little stock
In what I do or say
They'd sooner leave their cosseting
To hear a jackass bray;
My arms are like the twisted thorn
And yet there beauty lay;

The first of all the tribe lay there
And did such pleasure take -
She who had brought great Hector down
And put all Troy to wreck -
That she cried into this ear,
'Strike me if I shriek.'


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Read poems about / on: women, beauty, woman, memory



Poem Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003



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