The Author William Butler Yeats

A Man Young And Old:- His Memories


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.’


facebook share button twitter share button reddit share button share on pinterest pinterest

Add A Man Young And Old:- His Memories to your library.

Return to the William Butler Yeats library , or . . . Read the next poem; A Man Young And Old:- His Wildness

© 2022