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Two Poems by W. B. Yeats

Published on 
September 04, 2022

Quarrel in Old Age



                  Where had her sweetness gone?

What fanatics invent

In this blind bitter town,

Fantasy of incident

Not worth thinking of,

Put her in a rage.

I had forgiven enough

That had forgiven old age.


All lives that has lived;

So much is certain;

Old sages were not deceived:

Somewhere beyond the curtain

Of distorting days

Lives that lonely thing

That shone before these eyes

Targeted, trod like spring.



                 He  Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven



                  Had I the heavens’ embroidered clothes,

                  Enwrought with golden and silver light,

                  The blue and the dim and the dark cloths

                  Of night and light and the half-light,

                  I would spread the clothes under your feet.

                  But I, being poor, have only my dreams,

                  I have spread my dreams under your feet;

                  Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.