God guard me from those thoughts men think In the mind alone; He that sings a lasting song Thinks in a marrow-bone; From all that makes a wise old man That can be praised of all; O what am I that I should not seem For the song's sake a fool? I pray, for word is out And prayer comes round again, That I may seem, though I die old, A foolish, passionate man.
Return to the William Butler Yeats library , or . . . Read the next poem; A Prayer On Going Into My House